


Fangs and Flower Power

by Sunfreckle



Series: Sweet like Blood, Sugar [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (they start with 'he' pronouns and switch later), 1980's, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Betaed, But no on-screen violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cw: blood and biting, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Fluff, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Nonbinary Jehan, Original Vampire Lore, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Friendship, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: For someone who refuses to take life seriously, Grantaire is very quick to come to a pretty stranger's rescue in the middle of the night...And Jehanknowsthis is a bad idea, but they don't care.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my sister and for Débora who are fond of vampires, and with many thanks to all the friends that helped me figure out my lore <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my attempt at a fluffy vampire story. I do have to warn you that to write (semi) realistic vampires, some angst is unavoidable, but I’ve tried to keep it to a minimum. There will be warnings in front of each chapter if needed and most of this is as soft and sweet as vampirically possible ;)
> 
> One more things: I think that when it comes to shipping there is a rather fine line between the platonic and the romantic, in this story I play jump rope with that line.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Content warning for this chapter: mention of possible harassment on the street.

 

_Montreal, 1988_

It’s late, past two in the morning, and Grantaire is sitting on the fire escape of his building. The noise of the city is comforting. It helps with the noise in his head. Night-time noises should be distant though, any sound from the street below at this hour is usually bad. Like the sounds he hears drifting up now. Slow footsteps and soft, dreamy singing. The voice sounds sweet and gentle and that’s exactly what makes Grantaire sit up and look down. This is a rough neighbourhood. Sweet and gentle doesn’t belong here, definitely not after dark. He leans out as far as he can and on the street below him he just glimpses the top of a head of red hair. Someone is wandering idly down the street.

Grantaire hesitates as he sees the trio standing on the corner of the street. Damn. They’ve probably spotted the heedless redhead already. He’s walking straight towards them. Grantaire grabs an empty bottle from the small collection on the step below him, aims, and throws. The sharp noise of shattering glass is enough to startle the guys on the corner into temporary inattention. More importantly, the redhead stops walking, which gives Grantaire time to climb down the fire escape and hurry up behind him.

“Nice of you to wait up, man,” Grantaire says loudly, coming to walk as close beside the stranger as he feels he can do without startling him.

He looks shocked regardless. Shocked and confused.

Grantaire deliberately turns his back on the guys on the corner for a moment and makes eye contact with the startled young man before saying: “Joke’s on you though, cause I have the keys.” He’s dressed, Grantaire concludes, like a hippie and he looks very young.

“I-” he begins. “I- Um.”

“Come on,” Grantaire urges, making deliberate eye contact again. “This way, remember?”

He nods towards the street on the left and finally the hippie starts moving and walks with him.

Grantaire keeps up his boisterous chatter for the benefit of the trio that’s still watching them, but he doesn’t look back. Instead he studies his new companion. He’s short and slight and it may be the red hair, but he looks very pale. He’s also very quiet and seems almost afraid to look at Grantaire. Well, he doesn’t blame him for being rattled. What the hell is he doing out here anyway? The two of them round the corner, now they are out of sight of the three lurkers.

Grantaire breathes out and slows his pace a little. He gives the young man a questioning glance, trying to make eye contact again. “You okay, dude?”

Two dark eyes stare back at him. “…yes.”

“Good,” he says, offering an encouraging smile. “That brings me to my next point of order: what the fuck are you doing here?” He begins walking again and the redhead follows, still looking at him with an almost distressed expression.

“I…I just wanted to go for a walk,” he says eventually. “Clear my head.” He has an American accent, Grantaire hears now.

He gives the boy an incredulous look. “A stroll? Here? You have weird taste, my friend.” The redhead glances down and Grantaire adds hastily: “I dig your style though, sick bellbottoms.”

“Thanks?” He does not sound convinced.

Grantaire sighs. Even when he tries to be nice he fucks up. “This is a bad neighbourhood is all I meant,” he says. “And those guys back there are trouble.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes still on the ground. “I figured… Um… Thanks.”

Grantaire makes a dismissive noise. Great, now it must have sounded like he was fishing for praise. He holds still and points the building on their left with his thumb. “This is where I live,” he says. “Up there somewhere anyway.” By taking two lefts Grantaire had led them to his own front door. He really doesn't feel like climbing up the fire escape and through the window again.

“Right…” The redhead looks at him and for the first time Grantaire notices how dark his eyes are. They’re beautiful. Not just his eyes, all of him, and without the fear on his face it’s suddenly very hard to miss.

Grantaire clears his throat. “I’d invite you in-” he begins and the boy’s eyes widen in shock. “-but you don’t know me,” he finishes hastily. “So I won’t.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Um, do you know how to get home? Or to your hotel, or…? Do you want me to walk you to the nearest bus stop?”

For the first time something that looks vaguely like a smile flickers on the stranger’s face. It’s still hesitant and a little incredulous, but it’s there. “No, thank you,” he says. “I know the way.”

“Ok, good,” Grantaire nods, but he’s almost disappointed.

The redhead sways on his feet a little as if he’s undecided whether to start walking or not and because he can’t think of anything else to do, Grantaire holds out his hand.

“Nice meeting you, dude. And eh, stay safe and stuff.”

The boy hesitates for a beat, but then he reaches out a delicate hand and shake Grantaire’s.

“Fuck,” Grantaire breathes as soon as his fingers touch his own. “You’re _freezing_.”

The redhead lets go immediately and draws back.

Grantaire gives him a concerned look. It’s not that cold, but he’s not from around here and – upon loser consideration – definitely not dressed to be outside at night. “How far do you have to go to get home?” he asks with a frown. “Wait, here-”

Before the boy can answer Grantaire shrugs off his jacket and puts it around his narrow shoulders. The black denim looks weird on his floral blouse.

“Oh, I can’t-” he stammers. “You don’t have to-”

“It’s an old jacket,” Grantaire waves his protests away. Him being slightly more covered up makes Grantaire feel better about letting him go on alone anyway. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but it’s the truth. Reality isn’t pretty.

“Oh…alright, thank you,” the redhead mutters, drawing the jacket closer around his shoulders. “…you’re very kind.”

The sudden level of earnestness in his voice takes Grantaire by surprise and he responds with a nod that is at least half a shrug. “Yeah, well…g’night.”

“Goodnight,” the boy nods and he starts walking as Grantaire hurries up to the front door of his building. He fumbles with his keys, but he looks back over his shoulder with his hand on the latch once he’s managed to unlock it.

The street is empty. The stranger is gone.

Grantaire feels his shoulders sag a little. It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t even know his name. Oh well, this was a memorable night at least. He goes inside, locking the door behind. As he walks up the stairs without his jacket, he thinks it really is rather a cold night. Cold and dark. He shakes his head. What a night to go for a stroll.

♦♦♦

Jehan knows this is a bad idea, of course he does. But no matter how often he tells himself that, he still keeps walking. It’s just impossible not to want to know. If that human hadn’t given him his jacket, he might have been able to forget about him. But now Jehan can’t get rid of his scent and he has to know. Nobody has ever been so selflessly kind to him. Jehan feels like he should repay him. He should at least give him the jacket back…and if he could possibly learn his name while he’s at it, that would be…nice.

The young man had smelled like paint and coffee and alcohol. So does his jacket, only fainter. Jehan is carrying it across his left arm at the moment. He is dressed more warmly this time. Not that that’s necessary, but he suspects the helpful stranger won’t take his jacket back otherwise.

Jehan has a fairly good sense of direction and it takes him little effort to find his way back to the corner where his three potential victims had been standing the other week. There is no one loitering there now. The sun has only just gone down and people are hurrying along the street to get home for dinner. Jehan goes left and left again, until he finds himself in front of a familiar building. He looks up at it hesitantly. Of course he doesn’t know if the stranger is home already. He might be. Still, sneaking in seems an even worse idea than showing up here in the first place. Jehan turns around and leans back against the wall. He can afford to wait a little while.

♦

Walking home is not something that requires a lot of attention. Which means Grantaire is miles away in his own thoughts as he walks up to the front of his building. He nearly doesn’t see the person leaning against the wall. Nearly.

The redhead smiles at him when their eyes meet and Grantaire stares, completely taken by surprise. The boy is not dressed in floral print today, but still distinctly hippie-ish. There is fringe on his sleeves. He’s carrying Grantaire’s jacket in his arms and when he sees Grantaire’s eyes resting on it, he pushes away from the wall and holds it out to him.

“Thank you for lending it to me,” he says. His voice is just as Grantaire remembers it, gentle and melodic.

“No problem,” he says, taking his jacket back. Recollecting himself, he hastily takes off his headphones. He runs his hand through his hair and laughs. “You didn’t have to, but, thanks,” he says. As much as he has been on Grantaire’s mind the past week, he hadn’t expected to ever see the redhead again. He’s glad he was wrong.

“I just wanted to say,” the redhead says earnestly. “That it was really nice of you, what you did the other week and it was brave too and…I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Grantaire nods silently, because he really doesn’t know how to respond to such levels of sincerity.

The boy smiles again. “I also wanted to say hi,” he says. “So, hi.” He gives a little wave. “I’m Jehan.”

Grantaire is grateful for the lightening of his tone and he grins in response. “Grantaire,” he nods. “Or R if you like. Nice to have a name to go with the face.”

“Likewise,” Jehan says happily.

In the silence that follows Grantaire hears the muffled hum of music still coming from the headphones in his hand and he reaches into his bag turn off his Walkman. Jehan is looking at him with a friendly sort of curiosity and Grantaire must admit that he’s kind of flattered. Jehan really didn’t have to come all the way back here just to return an old jacket. Not that Grantaire isn’t really happy to have it back though, because he is.

“Do you want to come in?” he offers. He feels justified to ask him that now, considering Jehan came back on his own. He has been so much on Grantaire’s mind the past week that he’s not going to pass up an opportunity to actually get to know Jehan a little, but just in case he adds: “Or were you just passing by?”

Jehan looks a little shy, but also rather pleased. “No,” he says. “I mean, I’d like to come in. Yes.”

“Cool,” Grantaire says and he unlocks the door.

♦

Jehan doesn’t know if he’s more nervous or excited to be invited in. It’s not like he never does this sort of thing. He goes home with humans quite regularly. But never like this. Grantaire – the name suits him, Jehan thinks – isn’t someone to dazzle for a night and never see again. This feels more like what Jehan used to do back in the day. When he was human. Meeting someone nice and just…making friends.

He follows Grantaire up the stairs and says, mostly because silence is uncomfortable: “I’m sorry about showing up unannounced like this. I just-” He hesitates, but he might as well be honest. “I really wanted to meet you, like, properly, it was such a weird meeting last time.”

“Same, dude,” Grantaire says, looking over his shoulder at him. “It would have legit driven me crazy if I had never seen you again.”

He grins and the smile that jumps to Jehan’s lips in response is so genuine that he has to be careful to keep his mouth closed. It’s hard enough to talk without showing his fangs, let alone smile.

“This is me,” Grantaire announces, holding still in front of a battered door. “Last chance to run.”

Jehan laughs, turning his head away just in time.

Grantaire chuckles and unlocks the door.

Jehan follows him inside, much more curious than he’s willing to admit. Grantaire looks like an artist, the paint on his jacket and hands suggests that at least. Jehan likes artists, they make good company. His apartment, Jehan concludes, also looks like it belongs to an artist. A messy one at that. There is stuff everywhere and the furniture looks like it was selected for convenience and comfort only, with a complete inattention to style. Jehan loves it. “Sweet crib,” he says approvingly.

Grantaire directs an amused smirk his way. “Thanks,” he hums.

Jehan rocks on hisheels, glancing at the sketchbooks, novels, paints and magazines scattered around the place. “I don’t want to snoop,” he says.

“Nah, man,” Grantaire laughs. “Go nuts. I keep the good stuff hidden away anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” Jehan quips, picking up a tattered paperback.

“Do your worst,” Grantaire snickers, tossing the jacket Jehan returned onto a couch that is rather worse for wear. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Jehan pretends to be absorbed in the book’s cover. Grantaire can’t know how weird it is for Jehan to hear him say that. Because technically, he _should_ be afraid and Jehan is sorry for it. He hardly ever regrets what he is any more. He never regretted getting turned and he _likes_ his life. He really does. But right now, in this moment, he also really likes Grantaire. And having to lie is shit.

♦

In Grantaire’s personal opinion the rather trashy sci-fi novel Jehan is holding, isn’t exactly deserving of that much earnest attention, but he leaves Jehan to it and wanders towards the kitchen corner of the living room. “I was gonna making pasta,” he says. “And by that I mean it’s literally the only thing I have in the house to make. Do you want some?”

“No thank you,” Jehan says politely from behind him. “I had something to eat before I came here, but you go ahead.”

“Probably best if you’re a picky eater,” Grantaire grimaces.

“For sure,” Jehan laughs, picking up a cassette from the pile by the tape deck.

“Alright,” Grantaire says and he opens the fridge in search of ingredients. From the corner of his eye he can see Jehan moving through the room, rummaging through his stuff like a curious animal. Grantaire smiles. He likes having people over. Doesn’t happen too often while he’s sober though. That reminds him. “You don’t want to drink something?” he offers.

Jehan shakes his head. “Can’t hold my alcohol I’m afraid,” he says, almost apologetically.

“I have juice too, you know,” Grantaire laughs, putting on water to boil. “At least I think so, you can check the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jehan smiles, but he shows no inclination of doing so, instead he picks up one of Grantaire’s sketchbooks.

Grantaire isn’t worried about it, there’s nothing in there but lettering. “So how much of a lightweight are you then?” he asks, dumping a jar of sauce into a saucepan.

“Terrible,” Jehan says immediately. “Half a glass and I get sick.”

Grantaire whistles. “Are you sure you want to be friends with me?” he jokes.

“Yes,” Jehan replies, once again without hesitation. There is that sudden sincerity again that took him by surprise before.

“Well, there won’t be anything left for you to drink yourself sick on at least,” Grantaire says laughingly, brushing it off.

Luckily Jehan seems to forget about it too, because he has found a page of lettering and is making noises that are downright adoring. “This is beautiful,” he says, looking up and fixing a pair of glittering eyes on Grantaire.

“Just scribbles,” Grantaire shrugs.

“Bunk,” Jehan says firmly. “This is _awesome_.”

“Bunk?” Grantaire laughs, but Jehan isn’t listening. He’s flipping through the other pages, making another series of admiring noises. Grantaire wants to tell him to knock it off, but he can’t, it’s too damn adorable.

“My handwriting is terrible,” Jehan laments.

“So’s mine, lettering is drawing, not writing,” Grantaire says.

“You do this for a living?” Jehan asks curiously.

Grantaire lets out a bitter laugh. “I make very pretty signs for the copy shop I work at, if that’s what you mean,” he says.

Jehan looks taken aback so he waves his hands dismissively, nearly smacking himself in the face with the spatula he’s holding in the process.

“It’s fine,” he says. “It’s just work. Pays enough and leaves me enough time to paint and draw.”

Jehan leaves the sketchbook behind and comes to lean against the fridge. “What do you paint?” he asks.

Grantaire gives a vague answer and is immediately bombarded with very specific follow-up questions. After a while he gives in and tries to explain what he paints and why it’s different from what he draws and why he would rather make money arguing with copy and fax machines all day than to try and earn a living of his art. At some point during the conversation – that includes a lot of jokes on Grantaire’s part and more of that unsettling sincerity on Jehan’s – the pasta is finished and Grantaire moves to the couch with his plate in hand. Jehan clears the rubbish off a chair and sits down too.

For a moment Grantaire is afraid that they’ll have to deal with an awkward silence while he eats. It’s already kind of weird to eat on his own with Jehan just looking at him. But before there can be any sort of real silence Jehan spots a copy of the poetic Edda under a couple issues of Graffiti.

“Have you read this?” he asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says in between swallows. “Maybe not the best first introduction after nothing but Greeks though.”

Jehan laughs. “No,” he agrees. “But did you like it?”

“What I understood of it,” Grantaire nods.

“You should try The Saga of Asgard, by Roger…Roger Something,” Jehan says eagerly. “It reads really easily and it has all the best stories.”

Grantaire was already kind of puzzled by the way Jehan seems to draw back in shyness one moment, while seeming completely confident the next, but whatever there is of shyness in him is definitely gone now. Grantaire grins. “What’s your favourite?” he asks.

“You can’t ask me that,” Jehan says indignantly.

“Just did,” Grantaire hums, pulling up a spoonful that is more sauce than pasta. “Tell me your favourite.”

“Well, there’s Iduna’s apples,” Jehan ponders. “And the bargain for Brísingamen…”

Grantaire shakes his head. The way Jehan looked at that book betrayed that he probably knows these stories as good as by heart and the sudden energy that’s coming off him is as endearing as it is attractive. Grantaire isn’t going to let this go that easily. “I didn’t say name me,” he says. “Tell me.” He grins. “Tell me the apple story.”

Jehan’s self-control lasts for about thirty seconds of protest, after that he begins talking, proving Grantaire is absolutely right: he does know this story by heart. He’s also a damn good storyteller.

In a way to show his appreciation without saying that out loud, Grantaire puts his empty plate aside and grabs a pen and piece of paper off the floor. He hands it to Jehan. “Write down the title of that book for me?” he asks.

“Sure!” Jehan says happily. He scrawls something on the paper – his handwriting really is pretty terrible – and hands it back to Grantaire.

When Grantaire grabs it, his fingers touch Jehan’s. They’re just as cold as last time. “ _Christ_ , dude,” he gasps. “Even now you’re freezing.”

“Look,” Jehan huffs, crossing his arms. “Stop shaming me for my poor circulation. We can’t all be a gazillion degrees.”

“I’m not shaming,” Grantaire laughs incredulously. “But you are ridiculously cold.” Jehan doesn’t look cold and he knows that he runs rather hot himself, but he is not imagining this. Jehan’s fingers are downright frigid.

“I don’t hear you offering to warm me up,” Jehan retorts, huffing some more.

It’s clearly nothing more than a joke, but Grantaire promptly sits back and pats his knees. “Sure I am,” he grins. “Go ahead.”

For a moment Jehan looks severely flustered, but then there’s a spark of defiance on his face and he abruptly gets to his feet and sits down on Grantaire’s lap.

Grantaire is both surprised and impressed. “Alright, touché,” he chuckles. “Actually…” He reaches around Jehan to grab the remote, turn on the television and flicks to MTV. “Yeah, I can work with this,” he hums, resting his arm across Jehan’s legs.

Jehan laughs, there’s a hint of nerves in it, but the sound is warm and genuine, even if Grantaire can’t see his face. “You make me do weird things,” he says.

“Weird is good,” Grantaire nods approvingly. Jehan wasn’t lying about shit circulation, it’s not just his hands that are cold, he can feel that even through the thick corduroy of Jehan’s trousers. But drawing even more attention to that would just be rude. He nods towards the tv. “Wanna play guess the song?”

Jehan is good at guessing songs. He’s also good at making Grantaire laugh. Honestly, Grantaire doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this comfortable with anyone. It’s not like they just met at all, it feels like he’s known Jehan for ages. The evening rolls into the night and he doesn’t even realize. Jehan insists on helping with the washing up and when Grantaire refuses, mostly because there hardly is anything to wash up, he starts collecting and properly shelving Grantaire’s mistreated books instead. Meanwhile they’re still talking music. They agree that David Bowie is one of the best things to ever happen to the world, but somehow their mutual praise turns into an argument about which of his songs best demonstrates this fact.

“Look,” Grantaire says firmly. “Just cause your clothes are stuck in the seventies doesn’t mean your music taste has to be. Never Let Me Down is a _choice_ album.”

“Better than Heroes or Diamond Dogs?” Jehan scoffs. “Sit on it.”

“I don’t have to take abuse in my own home,” Grantaire exclaims and he digs in his pile of music until he’s found the cassette of Never Let Me Down. “If you can listen to this and sit still I’ll consider your argument,” he declares.

“Me dancing to Bowie is neither proof nor argument,” Jehan says as soon as the music starts. “It’s an inevitability.” He sniffs. “Even if you’re playing it on cassettes.”

“Now you’re going to rip on me for not having records?” Grantaire groans. “I need a drink.” And he goes to open a fresh bottle of wine, but more because Jehan is already dancing than because of any other reason. It’s awkward to sit around with music and dancing happening around him and while Grantaire certainly doesn’t want to be drunk right now, he’s definitely not dancing sober.

They forget their argument during Beat of Your Drum.

As for Grantaire, he also forgets the time. It’s not until Jehan declares kind of awkwardly that it’s past three am and that he should maybe go home, that he feels how tired he is. “Shit man, yeah,” he says. “I mean, you’re welcome to crash here if you like.”

“Oh,” Jehan says nervously. “Um, thank you, but, I think I’d rather-”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Grantaire says hastily. “Of course you want to go home.”

Jehan looks at him, his soft face bearing an even softer expression. “I had a really good time.”

Grantaire grins. God help him, Jehan is as sweet as he his pretty. “Me too,” he says.

Jehan shuffles his feet a little and moves vaguely towards the door. “So, um-” He looks up at Grantaire again. “Check you later?” It really sounds like a question. Almost shy again.

“If you can stand to see me again,” Grantaire grins. He kinds of want to hug Jehan, but maybe that would be too much.

Jehan’s expression flickers for a moment. “Of _course_ I do,” he says.

“Alright,” Grantaire making his smile into a smirk. “Hey, you got a phone?”

“Eh, yeah, but I don’t know my number yet,” Jehan says awkwardly.

“Alright then,” Grantaire says. “Here.” He grabs the sketchbook Jehan was looking at earlier, tears out the page with lettering he liked the best and writes his phone number in the corner. “Here,” he says, handing it over.

Jehan looks _so_ pleased that Grantaire changes his mind. He opens his arms.

Jehan’s face floods with a mixture of joy and nerves and he quickly, rather lightly wraps his arms around Grantaire in a parting hug.

“So I’ll see you later then,” Grantaire smiles, letting go again.

“Groovy,” Jehan beams and with that, he darts out the door.

Grantaire watches the door slam shut behind him with a tired sort of happiness buzzing in his chest. _Groovy_. The smile doesn’t leave Grantaire’s face for as long as he’s still awake.

♦

The sky is dark with clouds that night, but Jehan’s mind is clear and his head light as he hurries home. He is no longer willing to think this is a bad idea. This is a _good_ idea. He’s too happy for it to be anything else. If there is no truth in beauty, nothing can be relied on anymore. And this feels beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It is _so_ weird for me to write 'he' for Jehan, my patient betaing sister must have corrected every other sentence.)
> 
> Well, that was a rather fluffy beginning wasn’t it? :)  
> The last vampire fic I wrote was terribly dark, so this is a lot of fun, but it’s also rather new for me, so I would love to know if you like it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: temporary anxious feelings, passing mention of animal death (barely half a sentence, but I'm not taking chances with that stuff <3)

Grantaire has never met anyone that is so easy to be friends with as Jehan. He’s odd, that goes without saying, but in the best way possible. Grantaire doesn’t mind that he shows up out of nowhere without calling, because he’s always glad to see him. Jehan’s affection – even Grantaire can’t call his constant attention and presence anything else – has something reassuringly eager and voluntary.

The truth is that Grantaire likes having company a lot more than he is adept at _being_ good company. He’s good at parties, he knows that. Everyone that knows him knows it too. He never lacks invitations. But being the life of the party, holding your alcohol, singing, cracking jokes, that’s not the same as being good company. No, company, to Grantaire at least, means being in each other’s presence without the cover of an energized crowd. And Grantaire isn’t good at that. He knows he is always either talking too much or far too little. Without a charge of energy his witty sarcasm turns to solid cynicism. It’s a downer, he’s well aware of that. So are his zoned out silences when he’s drawing or just staring into space, untangling the thoughts in his head. Or at least several people have told him so.

Jehan doesn’t seem to think so, though. Jehan just shows up, with a notepad or library book under his arm, and seems equally happy to lounge on Grantaire’s couch in silence, to listen to him talk, to flood him with facts on poetry and literature or to straight-up launch into a debate with him. And it’s _easy_. It’s so bloody easy it keeps surprising Grantaire. Because yes, he has always preferred being around people to being alone, but being around them is never this easy.

Grantaire isn’t even sure how much time has passed, it can’t have been that long, all he knows for sure is that he genuinely has a hard time imagining his life without Jehan now. They meet up at least once a week, usually more, always in the evening. Grantaire thought he himself was a night owl, but he has nothing on Jehan. Grantaire gave up trying to call him during the day, because he never picks up. It actually suits Grantaire quite well. During the day he’s usually working anyway, either at the store or on his art. But it sure as hell improves his day if he gets to see Jehan at the end of a long shift. Usually they just hang out at his apartment, but sometimes they stroll around the city for a bit. Jehan keeps asking Grantaire about his favourite places, which eventually leads to Grantaire explaining that he didn’t actually grow up here. Not that he hasn’t grown fond of the place in the last five years, but it’s not like he knows the whole city. This inevitably leads to questions about where he did grow up, but when Grantaire awkwardly tries to avoid talking about his family, Jehan picks up on it and changes the subject so fast that he can only assume Jehan has a similar dislike of his own past. Grantaire is grateful and neither of them attempts to revisit the subject. They have better things to talk about anyway. Not that it matters to Grantaire what they talk about. Art, usually. Music, movies, literature, painting. Jehan either knows about it or he’s eager to hear about it. Grantaire never manages to get a hold of that Scandinavian mythology book, but it doesn’t matter. Jehan tells him all the stories.

♦♦♦

Time loses a significant part of its meaning when you’re immortal. It has been years since Jehan felt time closing in on him. Now he suddenly remembers what it was like, the feeling that if he could only slow time down a little, he would be much more free to enjoy it. Because he’s happy. Really happy. But he’s also scared. Grantaire is laid-back and doesn’t push for answers if he feels like the question might be unwelcome, but he’s not stupid. He laughs at himself a lot and dismisses his own insights, but in the moments when he talks freely of the things he’s passionate about he can’t hide his intelligence. At least not from Jehan. Moreover, Grantaire is hospitable to a fault. Luckily Grantaire requires no explanation for Jehan not wanting to sleep over at his place beyond his own comfort, but Jehan is running out of excuses to avoid eating or drinking around Grantaire. And it’s only a matter of time before Grantaire comes up with some sort of activity that actually has to take place during the day. Jehan feels like he’s on borrowed time and he hates it.

The evenings lounging about on Grantaire’s couch, reading or talking while Grantaire is drawing. Watching tv together, listening to music, the arguments about nonsense they both get way too into. Jehan doesn’t want to lose that. He doesn’t want to lose Grantaire. There hasn’t been anyone, not since Alexandre anyway, that Jehan is so happy to be around. And this is not like it was with Alexandre at all.

Jehan is sitting on the windowsill of his attic room, staring at the dark sky. His arms are wrapped around the one knee he has drawn up for comfort, but he feels empty. He could try telling Grantaire the truth… He’d be probably be angry, he’d certainly be scared, but Jehan knows he can’t keep lying to him forever. And he feels sick at heart just thinking of his other option, simply disappearing from Grantaire’s life. Then again, if he tells him, Grantaire might _want_ him to disappear.

The misery of that thought clouds Jehan’s mind so much that he nearly falls off the windowsill when the phone rings. Apart from a vampire elder Jehan met just after arriving in Montreal, no one has his phone number except Grantaire. It must be him. Jehan scrambles to answer it in time.

“Holy shit, you actually picked up,” Grantaire’s voice sounds as soon as he does.

“Sorry,” Jehan says lamely, because he can’t think of anything else right now.

“For what?” Grantaire laughs and without waiting for an answer he continues: “So I’ve had a bitch of a day, want to hang out?”

“Same, kind of,” Jehan says. “So yeah, totally.”

“Shall I come to yours for a change?” Grantaire offers.

Jehan looks around. His place is really not fit for entertaining a human. There’s nothing to eat or drink for a start, and he’d have to explain the covered windows. “Nah, I told you, my place is kind of lame. I’ll come to you, yeah?”

“Suits me,” Grantaire says and Jehan can hear the grin in his voice. “You're indulging my laziness. See you in a bit then?”

“Right on,” Jehan smiles. His smile wavers as soon as the click on the phone cuts off the cheerful sounds of his friend’s voice. Jehan has a knot in his stomach, but he can still feel the smile on his face. He’s not giving that up. Not if he can help it. And he _can_ help it. Grantaire deserves to know the truth. Jehan cannot believe – he _refuses_ to believe – that Grantaire would hate him for what he is. No, he’ll tell him the truth. And he’ll do it immediately. Before he can give himself the chance to back out.

♦♦♦

The thing about Grantaire’s approach to taking the world seriously, is that he doesn’t. He has it on very good authority that he is incapable of taking _anything_ as serious as he should. When he was a kid they called it a defence mechanism, over the years he’s turned it into more of a weapon. Life’s a joke, he might as well laugh at it.

He’s not laughing now though.

He’s sitting very still, sketchbook and pencil still in hand and his mind oddly blank. Jehan is looking at him with poorly repressed panic on his face and seems too anxious to say another word. To be fair the words he just did say seemed to cost him an enormous amount of effort and Grantaire can’t blame him. His own brain is still stuck on the words ‘vampire’ and ‘undead’, but he can imagine all of them were quite hard to say out loud.

Grantaire realizes he’s still staring at Jehan, so he looks away. That has a rather worrying effect on Jehan though, because he gets up from his chair, grabs the book he dropped a moment ago and mutters: “If you want me to leave, I understand.”

He sounds so sad that all Grantaire can do is blurt out: “What the hell, no. You can’t just drop that on me and then book it.”

Jehan freezes in place, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room.

“I-” Grantaire begins, but he hasn’t got a clue what to say. Part of him is still convinced this is some kind of joke and part of him…part of him is wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. How could he not have noticed that he had _never_ seen Jehan’s teeth? Worse than that, that he had never seen him eat or drink or go to the damn bathroom? No wonder Jehan always feels so cold. A small part of Grantaire’s mind is muttering about blood. About monsters. About fangs in the dark. But then he looks at Jehan, who looks so anxious all Grantaire wants to do is hug him and who _cried_ last week when Grantaire told him he saw a dead bird on the way home from work.

None of this fucking matters.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Jehan echoes, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…okay,” Grantaire repeats and then, thankfully, his bullshit personality catches up and he says: “You could have told me sooner, I was starting to get offended at you turning down my cooking.”

“You mean you don’t care?” Jehan stammers.

Grantaire runs a hand through his hair. “Of course I care Jehan, fuck, I get that this is a big deal but- I care about you more, okay. So, we can- We’ll sort this out. We will. ”

A smile is trembling on Jehan’s face and Grantaire can just see the shine of fangs below his bottom lip. How has he never noticed that before? “I thought…” Jehan says hoarsely. “I thought you might…”

“What? Kick you out?” Grantaire interrupts. “Jehan, if _you’re_ a vampire the world has worse fucking things in it than vampires. You’re my friend. I liked you before, I like you now. End of story.”

Jehan is hugging his book to his chest. He’s still standing on that same spot next to his chair, as if he doesn’t dare to believe Grantaire will really let him stay. “You don’t need…more time?” he says uncertainly.

“Time for what?” Grantaire scoffs. No, he’s not taking this vampire thing seriously, he knows that. But he’s taking what he has with Jehan seriously. That’s what’s important right now. Everything else is just static. “What I need right now is for you to sit your ass back down with your book so I can finish my drawing.”

Jehan’s eyes widen. They’re not red, Grantaire thinks vaguely. Cold skin and fangs aside, clearly not everything stories say about vampires is true. “Is that what you were doing?” Jehan gasps. “You were drawing me?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, happy to have something to distract him with. He turns the paper towards him. It’s a pretty good sketch, not finished yet, but he’s got most of Jehan’s features set down already.

Jehan makes a strange noise, lets go of the book with one hand and holds it out to him.

Grantaire lets him take the sketchbook and watches with a bemused grimace how Jehan looks at the drawing as if it’s about to attack him. “What are you staring for,” he teases. “You act as if you've never seen your own face be- oh-”

Jehan sits back down on his chair and puts the book aside without looking. His eyes are still wide and fixed on the drawing with what Grantaire can only imagine is several very overwhelming emotions all at once.

There is a rather heavy silence that Grantaire is too startled to break. Jehan looked like he was about to cry a moment ago, but now there really are tears in his eyes. Has Jehan really not seen his own face since he- Grantaire does not know what to call what happened to him. Jehan makes a soft noise and wipes his eyes.

“Is that true then?” Grantaire asks cautiously. “Vampires not having a reflection?”

Jehan’s eyes dart up at him for a moment before going back to the drawing. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ve never met anyone that could explain it properly, but it has something to do with light. Pictures of us are either too dark or overexposed. He smiles weakly. “You know…it never occurred to me that I could have asked someone to draw me.”

Grantaire grimaces. “Well, I didn’t ask you if I could draw you,” he says.

Jehan looks up at him again, smile trembling. “I don’t mind.”

His fangs are clearly visible now, but they don’t look frightening to Grantaire at all. Perhaps because he’s never seen his friend smile quite so wide. Jehan has a lovely smile. And a lovely face. With his long hair being kept out of his eyes by the braided headband. Wait… Grantaire looks at Jehan, with his high-waisted jeans and tassled crop top and something clicks.

“Dude,” Grantaire says, slightly in awe. “Are you _actually_ a hippie?”

Jehan fidgets a little. “I was turned in 1967,” he answers shyly.

“That’s nearly twenty years ago!” Grantaire gapes.

“Eh, yeah,” Jehan laughs nervously.

Grantaire wants to ask Jehan how old he is, he really does, but Jehan already looks incredibly embarrassed. He doesn’t look much over twenty, but that would still make him about forty years old. _Forty_ years old. Just in time Grantaire realizes he’s staring at Jehan and he shakes his head to pull himself together. “Sorry,” he says.

“That’s okay,” Jehan says quietly. “I mean…I get it if you’re weirded out.”

Grantaire is weirded out, but he’s also determined not to be. Jehan didn’t have to tell him this. He told him because he didn’t want to lie anymore and he’s clearly scared. The wonder at the drawing has faded slightly and the anxious expression is back on Jehan’s face. That won’t do. Grantaire has never felt uncomfortable around Jehan, they can’t start bad habits like that now. This is serious, probably as serious as it gets, but serious can suck it.

“Well,” he says slowly. “In light of this new information, I do have some questions.”

Jehan puts the drawing down. “That’s fair,” he says, with a sober sort of resignation. “Ask me whatever you like.”

“Good,” Grantaire nods, trying to keep his face as serious as he can. He leans forward, giving Jehan an earnest look. “Important things first: do you need me to explain to you how phones work? Is that why you just show up out of nowhere all the time?”

Jehan stares at him for a baffled moment and then he bursts out laughing.

Grantaire grins. The world is a fucked up place, but Jehan, whatever he may be, is _not_  one of the fucked up parts and nothing will convince him otherwise.

♦

It has hardly been fifteen minutes since Jehan managed to make the single biggest confession of his life, but here he is making another one. One of a different kind entirely and, strangely, one that is much less calmly received than the first one.

“Shut _up_ ,” Grantaire cries indignantly. “You’re shitting me!”

Jehan shakes his head, grinning. He doesn't remember the last time he felt this light and carefree. Grantaire isn’t afraid of him. He knows what Jehan is and he isn’t afraid. He isn’t even angry! Jehan doesn’t quite understand how, but he _isn’t_. Jehan just confessed to him that he is an undead creature that drinks the blood of the living and all Grantaire is upset about is-

“You went to _Woodstock_ ,” Grantaire cries. “ _Actual_ Woodstock.” His eyes are wide and filled with equal parts excitement and jealousy.

“Yes,” Jehan laughs. “My sire took me.”

“What, like, on an outing?” Grantaire frowns, he still looks appalled at his friend’s privilege.

“I was still a fledgeling,” Jehan grins. “Barely two years turned. I would have been completely lost on my own.” He smiles at the memory. “It was great though. We didn’t see everything of course, we had to wait for sundown...”

Grantaire glares at Jehan. “ _Please_ tell me you saw Jimi.”

Jehan shakes his head regretfully. “The sun was up before he even began, we had to hide. We did hear him though.”

Grantaire lets out a groaning sigh and slides further down the couch into an even more slouched position. He looks at Jehan and now there is a different sort of curiosity on his face, more hesitant. “Was your sire…” He makes a vague motion with his hand. “Nice?”

Jehan smiles. It feels so good to smile properly, not worrying about showing his teeth. “Yeah,” he says. “He was chill. I mean, I wouldn’t have gone with him if I didn’t like him.”

Grantaire nods. He still looks curious, but he also looks like he’s too polite to ask. It’s adorable, Grantaire can be so incredibly sweet.

Jehan gets to his feet and sits down next to Grantaire on the couch. Grantaire puts an arm around him, just like he always does. As if nothing has changed. Jehan feels a warmth glowing in his chest that has nothing to do with Grantaire’s body heat. “My sire is French,” he says and in his best accent he adds: “Alexandre Prouvaire.”

“You took his name?” Grantaire asks, surprised.

“Hm,” Jehan hums and he pulls a face. “Yeah, my family made it pretty clear I wasn’t actually worthy of their name anyway.”

Grantaire’s expression hardens. “Jerks,” he grunts.

Jehan shrugs. “I kind of agree.” He doesn’t miss them. Never did. “Alexandre fought in the French revolution,” he changes the subject. He laughs. “That’s what he said at least, he liked to embellish his stories.” A fond smile plays around his lips. “He was a good storyteller.”

“Was?” Grantaire asks cautiously.

Jehan looks up. “Oh, no, he’s alive. Well, you know what I mean.” He grins at Grantaire’s smirk and gives him a friendly jab in the ribs. “Figure of speech.”

Grantaire chuckles and draws his arm closer around him for a moment in half a hug. “So you guys didn’t, like, fall out or something.”

“No,” Jehan says. “Not at all.” After fifteen years together, they had just both felt like it was good to spend some time apart. Jehan had learned to take care of himself by then and if he was completely honest, Alexandre could be exhausting. He knew only highs and lows, nothing in between. Nothing, Jehan thought, like sitting on a couch and listening to some music toghether, just talking. He settles against Grantaire a little closer, slowly letting go of the lingering anxiety in his limbs.

“So you’re still cool with each other then,” Grantaire says, shifting his own position a little as well, so they’re both more comfortable.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Jehan says with a smile. “We don’t keep in touch very regularly, but that’s just cause we’re both on the road most of the time. We write each other sometimes. We could find each other if we needed to.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire says curiously. “Is that a vampire thing?”

“It’s a sire and fledgling thing,” Jehan explains. “Alexandre made me, what I am now anyway. He can always find me. For me to find him is a little harder, but I could probably do it if I really put my mind to it.”

Grantaire hums thoughtfully. Suddenly he lets out a rough laugh. “That’d be about my worst nightmare, my parents always being able to find me.”

“Mine too,” Jehan grimaces. “I don’t see Alexandre as my father at all though. More like an older brother, or a cool uncle.”

“Ok,” Grantaire chuckles. “Never had one of those.”

Jehan smiles and because his head and heart are too full of it to keep quiet he says: “R, I’m so glad you don’t mind. I was so scared you’d be afraid of me.”

Grantaire gives him an odd look. For a moment it seems like he’s going to say something, then he makes a shaking movement with his head and pulls Jehan fully into his arms, into a proper hug. Jehan draws his legs up under him on the couch and hugs Grantaire round his waist, resting his head against his chest. Grantaire slides sideways until he’s sitting slanted, his back is against the arm rest of the couch, that way Jehan can lie on him without either of them having to twist their backs. Jehan is completely wrapped in Grantaire’s warmth and he has to swallow a couple of times to stop himself from crying. He hides his face against Grantaire’s shirt, inhaling the now familiar smell of paint, wine and coffee. Grantaire doesn’t try to fill the silence and he holds Jehan like he’s way too comfortable to let go any time soon. Jehan is glad, so glad. The music that’s playing in the background drifts into Jehan’s awareness again. For a moment he wonders how it is that he can feel the beat in spite of the sound being so soft, but then he realizes it is not the music that he feels. It’s the beating of Grantaire’s heart. He lifts his head in surprise.

“Hm?” Grantaire hums, glancing down at him.

“I…nothing,” Jehan says, meeting his eyes for a moment before putting his head down again. He can hear as well as feel the rhythm and now he wonders how he could be unaware of it before. It’s as present as Grantaire’s warmth. Steady and comforting and utterly human. “I can hear your heartbeat,” he mutters, just in case Grantaire might think he has something sinister on his mind. When he says that out loud though, it sounds rather sinister as it is. Before he can explain himself, however, Grantaire says amusedly:

“Yeah, that must be weird…”

He makes a surprised noise and Jehan can feel him looking down, so he looks up to meet his gaze.

“Hey, is that why you’ve never, well, never got this close before? So I couldn’t feel you  _don't_ have a heartbeat?”

Jehan is a little taken aback. “Actually…I never really thought about that,” he confesses. “I just thought you’d get suspicious about me being cold.”

Grantaire lets out an exaggerated breath. “You _are_ cold,” he says, but instead of shivering or pushing him away, he hugs him closer. “Don’t you feel it yourself?”

“It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, if that’s what you mean,” Jehan smiles, putting his head down again. “But I can feel how warm you are. It’s lovely.”

Grantaire makes an unintelligible, but definitely pleased sound.

“Aren’t you getting cold though?” Jehan asks cautiously.

“Me, cold?” Grantaire scoffs. “Never. Sarcasm and spite are hot, didn’t you know?”

Jehan laughs. “So you don’t mind then?” he asks.

“No,” Grantaire says and his voice has a softness to it that makes Jehan hide his face in Grantaire’s shirt to keep his smile from being too obvious. “There’s nothing to mind,” Grantaire continues. “And just so we’re clear, you’re welcome to lie on me whenever you want.”

Jehan’s smile grows wider still. “Good to know,” he says, repressing a laugh. He could laugh at everything right now.

Grantaire hums suspiciously. “Am I going to regret that the next time I try to cook or draw with you in the room?” he asks.

That hadn’t been on Jehan’s mind at all, but it is now. “Yes,” he grins. “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t easy to cover such heavy subjects in a light manner without ignoring their weight, but I hope I didn’t make the conversation too anxious! 
> 
> For the people who wonder about random details (like me), Jehan was born in 1945 and they were 21 at turning. Grantaire was born in 1965, he’s nearly 24.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3
> 
> PS. Débora, whose goodness and talent I do not deserve, drew these two before I'd even properly started writing, [please go take a look](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/tagged/vampire+au).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: slight reference to violence and a discussion on biting, drinking blood, victims, consent and other sensitive vampire subjects, also: terrible eighties slang.

“You alright?” Grantaire asks, glancing at Jehan. His friend is covered from head to toe with thick clothing, the comically oversized hood of his poncho completely obscuring his face as he bows his head.

“Yeah,” Jehan answers with a nervous laugh. He has his arm linked in Grantaire’s, because he can’t exactly see where he’s going.

Grantaire gives Jehan’s gloved fingers a squeeze. They are getting a few odd glances from passers-by, but he honestly couldn’t care less. They’re almost at the park anyway, there are enough quiet spots there where no one will bother them.

“I’ve never done this for fun before,” Jehan says beside him, the excitement clearly audible in his voice, even though he’s speaking low.

“Gone out before sundown?” Grantaire asks, also keeping his voice down.

Jehan hums in agreement. “It’s usually an emergencies-only sort of thing.”

“Needing to experience dusk in the park is nearly an emergency,” Grantaire says seriously.

Jehan laughs.

The sun has already disappeared behind the buildings, it’s only stray sunlight left now, which is why Jehan said it would be safe for him to come outside. He still has to be covered up though and he has to stay that way until the sunlight is gone completely. As far as Grantaire understood his explanation it is the UV light of the sun that hurts Jehan’s kind. Apparently there’s something different about a vampire’s skin, full contact with sunlight burns them. Grantaire is still curious what that actually means. In movies vampires burst into flames, but that can’t be real. But Jehan already sounded rather queasy talking about the effects of sunlight in general though, so Grantaire guesses it’s best not to ask after specifics. What he does know is that the light also hurts his eyes, hence the sunglasses. Jehan is still a little offended at being laughed at, but Grantaire is not going to apologize for laughing at those rose-tinted monstrosities. Not that they don’t look cute on Jehan, because they really do, but they’re still ridiculous.

“You’re right,” Jehan mutters surprised when they enter the park. “There’s still people here.”

“It’s a warm evening,” Grantaire hums contently. “Good time to waste some extra youth.” Because it’s all young people scattered around in little groups on the grass. Some of them have a guitar with them just like Grantaire. He and Jehan will blend right in.

“Can you find us a spot under a tree?” Jehan asks eagerly.

“Sure thing,” Grantaire grins.

In a corner that is already enveloped in shadows (and rather deserted because of it) there is a tree big enough for them both to lean against. As soon as Grantaire guides Jehan into the shadows, his friend raises his head and walks with more confidence. He doesn’t let go of Grantaire’s arm though and Grantaire is completely fine with that.

When they reach the tree Jehan draws his hood back a little and suddenly he gasps out loud.

“What is it?” Grantaire asks, startled. If Jehan gets hurt just because he wanted to drag him out to a stupid park-

“Daisies!” Jehan coos adoringly and Grantaire lets out a relieved breath. Jehan sinks to his knees in the grass, not quite able to pick any flowers yet because of his rather thick gloves.

Grantaire breathes out the last of his anxiety and looks around. It’s a very shady spot and they don’t seem to be in direct sight of anyone. “Is this safe?” he asks.

He almost feels silly, being so protective of Jehan, considering the fact that he’s superhuman. Jehan has pointed out that isn’t really an accurate description, but Grantaire prefers it to ‘undead’. And what little Jehan told him about vampires sounds pretty superhuman to him. He’s stronger, faster, his senses are sharper, he hardly feels pain… So maybe it is silly of Grantaire to be so anxious for his comfort now, but this is _Jehan_. Vampire or no vampire, he’s so slight and soft-spoken. Grantaire nearly laughed when Jehan assured him he had never killed anyone, that he only drank about once a month and that even though vampires did have a certain power over other living creatures, that he’d never ever use it on someone that didn’t pose a direct threat. Just the thought of Jehan coercing anyone into anything is preposterous. And right now, with him anxiously hiding from every last glimpse of sunlight, Grantaire certainly doesn’t feel like the weaker of the two.

“The sun is going down now,” Jehan says quietly, sitting down and leaning back against the tree, careful not to flatten any daisies. “But I won’t take my glasses and gloves off just yet.”

“How do you know?” Grantaire asks curiously. “Can you feel it?”

“Kind of?” Jehan says hesitantly. “It’s hard to explain. But I’m good.”

“Alright, aces,” Grantaire nods, opening up his guitar case.

“I can’t believe I’ve never heard you play!” Jehan says, equal parts indignant and excited. “You never even _mentioned_ that you play!”

“That’s because I’m a pretentious jerk,” Grantaire informs him, sitting down beside Jehan with his guitar. “I require a park and mood lighting to play.”

“Your apartment is full of mood lighting,” Jehan grins and Grantaire can just see the gleam of his fangs in the shadow cast by his hood. “Because you never fix your lightbulbs.”

“I resent that,” Grantaire huffs, idly tuning his instrument. “Just for that I won’t play for you, I’ll just sit here pretending to, like an asshole.”

Jehan laughs and the sound rings light and free in the open air. Grantaire smiles. This was a good idea. Dusk is spreading rapidly through the park, but the energy of the day still lingers all around them. Muted voices from other visitors mingle with the evening song of birds. Grantaire likes the park this way.

When all the light that is left has turned grey, Jehan takes off his glasses and pulls his hood back a little more. “I love dusk,” he sighs, looking around. He looks at Grantaire, there’s just enough light to see each other still. “Thank you, R, this is lovely.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Grantaire winks. “The streetlights are going to turn on soon.”

Jehan makes a disgusted noise, but leans back looking very content. He takes off his gloves and while Grantaire’s fingers gently pluck the strings of his guitar, he watches Jehan’s fingers tentatively touch the daisies dotting the grass.

“I don’t miss the sun that much,” Jehan says thoughtfully. “But I do miss seeing flowers bloom.” He begins to pick the daisies, placing the stems between his fingers. “I miss the colours more than I do the light…”

Grantaire smiles at Jehan’s accidental poetry and as the words slide together in his mind they jog his memory. He nearly chuckles and plucks his strings in search of the right note. Jehan looks up in delight when Grantaire starts singing and then look surprised at _what_ he is singing.

_“Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming round… Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears…”_

“R,” Jehan protests, but he’s smiling and Grantaire flashes him a grin before letting the tone of the music dictate his expression again. He likes this song. It’s been long since he’s played it and he has to fudge his way through some of the chords, but he still knows the lyrics by heart and he sings the chorus with ease.

 _“And I need you now tonight_  
_And I need you more than ever_  
_And if you'll only hold me tight_  
_We'll be holding on forever_  
_And we'll only be making it right_  
_Cause we'll never be wrong together…”_

Jehan is trying to hide his face, looking down at the daisy chain he is making, but Grantaire is certain that if he had been physically capable of it, he’d be blushing like a rose. Grantaire’s own face feels rather hot actually, but Jehan can’t see that while he’s looking at his daisies and Grantaire’s voice gives nothing away.

_“Once upon a time there was light in my life, but now there's only love in the dark…”_

Jehan looks up and Grantaire risks a genuine smile. He finishes the song, letting the music linger longer than his voice and looking at Jehan all the while. Just before he lets the last note die Grantaire realizes he’s given Jehan this song now. Whatever happens to the both of them, he’ll always think of him when he hears or sings this from now on.

Silence settles in where the music was a moment before and Jehan looks at Grantaire with an expression full of shadowy softness. Just when his lips part to say something the streetlights on the park paths blink on, the nearest one casting a dull orange glow that makes the shadows sharper and makes Jehan’s skin seem oddly close to the shade of his hair. There goes the mood. Grantaire laughs at the world and it’s lack of romance.

But Jehan is undisturbed. “You sang me a song,” he says happily.

“Seems so,” Grantaire hums, looking away.

“I’ll make you a daisy chain for your hair,” Jehan announces and he reaches drapes the half-completed garland carefully across his knee while he picks more flowers.

Grantaire hums again and plays another song, without singing this time.

A little later, when he’s bending his head so Jehan can carefully place the daisies on his curls, he wonders if he was wrong about the world. But no, Jehan won’t make him change his mind. The world really is woefully lacking in romance, it’s just that Jehan knows how to make it himself.

♦♦♦

If Jehan had known telling Grantaire would make things _easier_ instead of harder, he would have done it ages ago. He feels light without the secret weighing him down. Time becomes meaningless again, apart from the evenings flying by too quickly when he spends them with Grantaire. Being together was comfortable before, but now it’s really easy. Grantaire gets in the habit of making rather tasteless jokes about things like garlic and crucifixes (which, as Jehan has explained to him many times, are both completely harmless). In return Jehan gets into the habit of cuddling up to Grantaire at pretty much every opportunity. Grantaire doesn’t seem to mind, quite the opposite. That doesn’t stop him from complaining though.

“God, your nose is even colder than your fingers!” he cries, squirming dramatically in Jehan’s embrace. “Are you a vampire or an ice cube?”

“I know I’m not exactly curvy,” Jehan says, trying to sound offended. “But that’s not very nice of you.” He slips his fingers under Grantaire’s collar for a moment and Grantaire yelps.

“Neither is that!” he cries, grabbing Jehan hands and refusing to let go of them.

“Well, don’t call me a cube,” Jehan laughs. He pouts teasingly. “I never liked Picasso.”

“Picasso?” Grantaire repeats, puzzled.

Jehan is a little disappointed, he was rather proud of that one. “Cubism,” he explains. “Come on, you’re an artist, you should know that!”

“I’m self-taught and don’t know _anything_ ,” Grantaire scoffs. “So bite me.”

Jehan can’t help the snort that escapes his nose.

Grantaire grimaces. “Figure of speech,” he says, finally letting go of Jehan’s hands.

“Alright,” Jehan grins. “Just as long as we’re clear.”

The fact that Grantaire’s laugh really has nothing like anxiety in it makes Jehan’s heart sing. Instead of hugging Grantaire again he kindly keeps his cold fingers and nose to himself and stretches out on the couch, using Grantaire’s lap for a pillow.

Grantaire hums approvingly and as he reaches for the book he had been reading with one hand, the other is already stroking absentmindedly through Jehan’s hair.

Jehan closes his eyes and smiles at the world.

After a moment he opens them again however, because Grantaire is very quiet and that means he is not reading. Grantaire is not a quiet reader, he pulls faces, makes noises and occasionally argues out loud with his book. Jehan looks up to see Grantaire leaning the top of the book against his chin, staring off into space. “Hm?” Jehan hums softly.

Grantaire startles out of his thoughts and lowers his book. “There was something in-” He shakes his head and gives Jehan an awkward grin.

“What?” Jehan asks curiously.

“I was just wondering,” Grantaire says vaguely, putting the book aside. “Does it hurt, being bitten?”

Jehan feels a pang of nerves, but really, he has been expecting this. Grantaire has hardly asked any questions so far, it makes sense he’d want to know. The awkward truth is, however… “I don’t know,” Jehan says honestly. “I was never bitten before I was turned.”

That possibility clearly hadn’t occurred to Grantaire yet, he looks very puzzled. “Then how…how are you-” He shuts his mouth.

Jehan knows what he wants to ask, but he’s not sure how to answer it. He fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves a bit.

Grantaire clears his throat and brushes a stray lock of hair away from Jehan’s forehead. “Never mind,” he mutters. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m a nosy fucker, tell me off next time.”

“You’re not though,” Jehan protests, looking up. “Not at all...” He would have sat up to face Grantaire properly, except he’s still stroking Jehan’s hair and, well.... “I’ll try to explain, okay?” he says. “Just…tell me if something creeps you out?” At least then they’ll both be honest with each other.

“Gotcha,” Grantaire nods. “I’ll be sure to scream in horror.”

Jehan pulls a face, but Grantaire’s lazy grin does put him at ease. He struggles to decide where to start. “It’s not like in books and movies,” he says hesitantly. “Vampires don’t drain people they want to turn, or at least they shouldn’t.” The truth is that Jehan doesn’t fully understand this stuff himself. Alexandre had never been terribly interested in the how and why of things.

“So how were you turned then?” Grantaire asks. His posture is relaxed, but his voice betrays that he’s feeling awkward about this too.

“The kind way,” Jehan says with a weak smile. “So, consensually. Alexandre offered and I said yes.”

Grantaire looks at Jehan quietly. He doesn’t say a word but Jehan can feel the question.

“No one had ever cared about me like he did,” Jehan says sadly. “And I wanted to get out of there so badly…all I had waiting for me was a draft notice.”

Grantaire pales a little.

“People have done worse things to avoid war,” Jehan mutters, looking away.

There’s a tense silence and then Grantaire clears his throat. “So becoming a vampire has nothing to do with biting.”

“No,” Jehan says and he nearly laughs, because he’s actually grateful to change the subject back to this one. “It’s about drinking. Vampire blood is…toxic? I don’t really know how it works. But if you drink enough of it, as a human I mean, it stops your heart. It kills you, but you don’t die.” He waves his hand, indicating his own body. “This happens.”

“Very impressive results,” Grantaire says, smirking a little.

Jehan grins and gives his shoulder a playful shove.

“Okay, okay,” Grantaire laughs. “So that’s what happened? You drank Alexandre’s blood and…that was it?”

“Pretty much,” Jehan nods.

“So you were never bitten then.”

“Not while I was human,” Jehan replies. “Alexandre used to drink from me sometimes after I was turned, not too often though.” That had mostly been an emergencies-only situation. Not that Alexandre had ever seemed to have a problem with it, unlike some other vampires Jehan had met.

“And that didn’t hurt?” Grantaire asks, fascinated.

It is the strangest feeling to feel like blushing without either heat or blood rising to your face. Jehan mumbles something indistinct by way of answer.

Grantaire doesn’t press. Jehan appreciates that, but…this feels like lying.

“I know it hurts humans,” he mutters. "At least, it can, if you’re not careful.” He hesitates. “I try to be careful.”

Grantaire looks at him. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s not like you have a choice…”

“We have some choices,” Jehan says meeting his gaze seriously. “Where to bite someone for instance. Necks are traditional, but dangerous. Someone’s arm is much safer.”

Grantaire leans his head back until it rests against the back of the couch. He has a habit of breaking eye contact when talking about important things. It doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. He mentioned once to Jehan that talking is easier if you don’t have to immediately see the effect of your words. Jehan agrees.

♦

As far as expectations go, Grantaire didn’t really have any. He doesn’t feel that Jehan owes him any explanations either. Not really. That’s why he doesn’t ask any questions now. He just listens. Jehan mutters about not drinking too much, about making sure never to get too hungry. Some of the things he says sound like he gets invited to go home with people quite regularly. Grantaire is curious, but he doesn’t ask. Because it’s none of his damn business. As long as Jehan talks Grantaire keeps either playing with or stroking his hair. Almost absentmindedly, but not really. Because there is a tension in Jehan’s shoulders that Grantaire wishes he could take away.

After a while Jehan falls silent, but the tension doesn’t leave. Grantaire isn’t good at this sort of thing. He wants to say something uplifting, but he doesn’t know how. He’ll settle for the next best thing then.

“There’s plenty of people that do worse every day.”

That is anything but uplifting, but Jehan gazes up at him looking almost thankful.

Grantaire doesn’t want Jehan to apologize for what he is, not when the world is full of people who never do. “I mean it,” he grunts. “The one year I went to college I _lived_ with people that did worse.” He grimaces. “People like those jerks hanging around on the corner that night we m-” Grantaire’s thoughts grind to a halt. Quite some time has passed since that dark night they met and he has since learned that Jehan is neither reckless nor stupid. Grantaire blinks. “Were you…” He looks into Jehan’s eyes and there is a decidedly caught look in them. “Were you _hunting_ that night?” Grantaire gapes.

“I don’t do that that often,” Jehan says uncomfortably. “Only when I’ve had a bad day…”

Grantaire grimaces and tries to imagine what Jehan – who is currently lying with his head in his lap with his feet in their silly striped socks drawn up on the couch – might have done to that trio of thugs if Grantaire hadn’t prevented him. Well, whatever it had been, it would have been self-defence. Technically.

“Is that a good remedy then,” he quips. “Against bad days?”

The tension in Jehan’s body seems to have gone. He looks easier, relieved and he grins shyly at Grantaire’s question. “Hard to think of anything better than a drink,” he confesses.

“Amen to that,” Grantaire laughs.

“I’m still careful not to take it too far though,” Jehan assures him.

Grantaire makes a vague noise. Suddenly Jehan’s comments about biting people in places that are easy to treat, like their arm, make a lot more sense. He actually thinks that is very considerate. He’s not sure if he’d bother with that sort of stuff, if he’s being completely honest. “When you hunt like that,” he mutters after a while. “Does it ever…not work?”

Jehan smiles sadly. “I’ve never gone hungry so far.”

The frown on Grantaire’s face is not voluntary. He’s not surprised, he’s not even disappointed. He’s just- Grantaire sighs. “People suck,” he grunts.

A shy sort of twinkle sparks in Jehan’s eyes. “No, I do,” he says.

Grantaire stares blankly at him for a single moment and then he grabs one of the pillows of the couch and presses it against Jehan’s face as if he’s going to smother him to death.

Jehan’s lets out a muffled laugh and thrashes half-heartedly, but Grantaire holds him down.

“No, you deserve to die for that!” he cries, taking the joke as far as comedic timing will let him, since his friend doesn’t actually have to breathe anyway. “This is your worst offence by far!”

By the time Jehan has wrestled the pillow out of his hands they’re both laughing and they don’t stop until Grantaire is breathless and Jehan complains that vampire or not, his abs are _killing_ him right now.

♦♦♦

Since the evening in the park was such a success Jehan agrees to go out with Grantaire again with very little convincing. It’s strange sitting in a bar actually waiting for someone though. Waiting for someone he knows at least.

“Hi.”

Jehan glances to his right. A woman has sat down beside him. She is leaning in a little too close.

“Hi,” he says cautiously.

He doesn’t really listen to her reply, because he has just noticed her hands. She’s wearing several rings and they all look like pure silver. He tries a cautious smile. “I’m waiting for someone actually,” he says in reply to a question he’s not at all sure this is an appropriate answer to.

“Oh,” she says, disappointed but not overly so. “Well so am I, my friends are terribly late. We can wait together, then?” Her smile is friendly, but she’s moving towards him like she wants to touch his arm and Jehan isn’t wearing longs sleeves tonight.

He doesn’t like doing this, but sometimes a little Presence just makes life _so_ much easier. He turns to face the woman fully and looks directly into her eyes. “Don’t touch me,” he says solemnly.

The woman’s eyes glaze over just a little. “W-what?” she mutters.

“Don’t touch me,” Jehan repeats. He follows it with a kind smile. “You seem nice, I’ll wait with you if you like, but don’t touch me.”

He breaks eye contact and the woman blinks. She looks confused for a moment, but then she smiles, leans her chin on her hand and asks:

“So, who are you waiting for?”

Jehan gives her a cheerful look. “Just about the greatest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Lucky,” she laughs.

“I know,” Jehan says, doing his best not to grin. “And what about you?”

♦

Fond as he is of a drink, when Grantaire is cheerful, he really has no need of it. When he bursts into the bar looking for Jehan his spirits are higher than those of the drinkers around him and his grin is as wide as it gets. He spots Jehan sitting at the bar with a pretty woman and actually stops to look for a moment. Her dark complexion makes a gorgeous contrast with Jehan’s, just like the fact that he wears his hair down while she wears it up. Grantaire wishes he had a sketchbook on him. Since he doesn’t, he takes a moment to commit the scene to memory before sliding up to the bar and wrapping an arm around Jehan.

“Oh!” the woman exclaims. “This must be the infamous R.” She grins at Jehan. “I get what you mean.”

“That can’t be good,” Grantaire says dramatically. “Since I am nowhere near as good-looking as either of you.”

Jehan laughs and says: “This is Florence, we bonded over having to wait an absolute _age_.”

“You’re in less trouble than my friends though,” Florence says. “Alex here is a lot nicer than I am.”

“No fake?” Grantaire snickers. “You must be pretty terrifying then.” He dodges the playful jab to his ribs Jehan tries to give him and gives Florence a dramatic look.

She laughs. “Are you two staying here or what?” she asks.

“Nothing wrong with this place,” Grantaire says, looking around fondly. “But I was planning on taking J-Alex to Electric.” Dancing, that’s what he wants to do tonight.

“Nice,” Florence nods approvingly. “Banging place.”

“Nothing like it,” Grantaire grins, but when he looks at Jehan his grin falters. Jehan looks _extremely_ nervous. “Unless,” Grantaire says quickly. “You’d rather stay here?”

Jehan looks relieved. “We should at least wait for Florence's friends to show up,” he says, bringing a smile back on his face. “She kept me company.”

“Oh yes,” Florence pleads. “Stay and meet the gang!”

Grantaire looks at Jehan and seeing that he looks a lot happier with this idea than he did at the suggestion of the club, he lets the idea of dancing go. “The more the merrier,” he grins. “Get me a drink and we’ll make all your friends jealous at the fun we’ve been having without them.”

As it turns out, Florence friends show up not too long after that, but they are a friendly bunch and by then Grantaire has had a drink or two and is up for anything. Jehan stays close by his side the whole night, politely refusing any offers of drinks and passing his unnoticed to Grantaire when he’s included in a round anyway. Grantaire does not remember the names of any of Florence’s friends, but he manages to not call Jehan by his real name so he considers that a win.

“That was _fun_ ,” Jehan sighs when the two of them walk away from the bar later that night.

“Big time,” Grantaire grins. He’s just shy of being too drunk and still full of energy. “Hey,” he says, nudging Jehan with his shoulder while they walk. “If you didn’t want to go dancing, you could have said."

“I’d love to go dancing with you!” Jehan protests.

Grantaire scrunches up his face. “Then why’d you freak out over the club?”

Jehan lets out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, um, I’ve been there before,” he says.

“Didn’t like it?” Grantaire asks.

“No, it was rad,” Jehan says. “But the way I go out…going back is maybe not such a good idea.”

Grantaire wonders what that’s supposed to mean. He tries to imagine Jehan breaking a place down or being part of a brawl and snorts with laughter. “What the hell do you mean?” he snickers.

“I go out to drink, R,” Jehan says, half-laughing, but still a little awkward.

Grantaire shuts his mouth. “Oh.” That makes sense actually. “Well,” he says, giving Jehan a crooked grin. “I can imagine clubs don’t like it if you spill blood on their furniture.”

“Oh my god, I don’t feed in the club,” Jehan protests, giving him a shove.

Grantaire laughs, his voice loud in the quiet street. “What do you do then?” he asks, draping an arm across Jehan’s shoulder.

Jehan rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Find someone fun, offer to go home with them.”

“Well,” Grantaire snickers. “No one would tell you no.”

Jehan’s face falls. “I never use my Presence on people for that. _Never_.”

His sudden intensity is sobering and Grantaire gives him an earnest look. “I meant because you’re _attractive_ ,” he clarifies. “Not any other reason.”

“Oh…” Jehan says, looking flustered.

Grantaire laughs again. He does wonder though- “But if you just look for a willing partner, why would you worry about going back?”

Jehan makes a thoughtful noise. “I don’t know, just feels awkward I guess.”

Now Grantaire has started thinking about this it’s rather hard to stop. “How do you ask someone something like that though,” he snickers. “I mean, that’s quite a question for a one-night stand.”

Jehan clears his throat. “I don’t…I don’t specifically ask… _that_.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “That’s going to be fucking awkward when they wake up the next morning then,” he snickers.

“ _No_ ,” Jehan says, sounding alarmed. “I don’t just-” He makes a frustrated sound and starts over, keeping his voice down this time. “Look, when people take me home they want to have a good time. And so do I! Of course I’m not going to ask if they’ll let me drink from them, I ask if they want to get high and fool around. If they’re down for that sort of thing, we go over to their place and I make sure we both have some fun. That’s what hook-ups are for, right?”

“Suppose so,” Grantaire says amusedly. “Still hard to explain the bite marks though.”

“It would if there were any,” Jehan says, looking rather relieved at how little bothered Grantaire is by all this. “Okay, so this may be too much information but, you know how things that are toxic can be helpful in small doses?”

Grantaire looks him dead in the eye. “Like nihilism,” he says.

Jehan gives him an exasperated look.

He snickers. “I know what you mean,” he says. “Glycerine isn’t exactly good for you, but they use it in small doses to treat heart failure.”

“Yes!” Jehan says. “Exactly. Well. It’s a bit like that with vampire blood. If a human drinks only a very little of it, it doesn’t harm them, but gives them a bit of a-” He waves his hand around vaguely. “-a boost to their system I guess? They heal faster, don’t feel pain as strongly, that sort of stuff.”

“So you feed your them a little of your own blood?” Grantaire asks in fascination.

Jehan nods. “That way the biting doesn’t hurt and they heal pretty much instantly after.”

Grantaire has to admit he’s probably had weirder one-night-stands himself. Still- “How does getting high get into this?”

Jehan gives him a slightly awkward look.

A slow grin of realization spreads across Grantaire’s face. “Vampire blood gets you _high_ , really?” That’s the best thing he’s heard so far.

“Just a little,” Jehan laughs. “Just enough actually.”

“And how do you do _that_ without them knowing?” Grantaire demands to know, because that is a way weirder thing to bring up than asking to bite someone.

Jehan smiles at Grantaire’s amusement, but says nothing. Just when Grantaire thinks this is a question his friend isn’t going to answer, Jehan opens his mouth and quickly rakes his teeth across his tongue, accompanied by a rather meaningful look.

Grantaire lets his laugh ring out even louder than before. “Vampire kisses,” he mutters, sinking his voice again. “Dramatic much?”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Jehan grins shyly.

That doesn’t surprise Grantaire one bit. “Doesn’t sound like a bad night, that’s for sure,” he hums. He thinks it must have been Jehan’s - what was the word Jehan used for Alexandre? Sire? – it must have been him that taught Jehan to hunt like this. It makes sense. It’s all very…flower power. “Well,” he chuckles. “You pick a place you haven’t been to yet next time we go out. Cause considering what you just told me, we’re likely to run into someone looking to go another round.”

Jehan makes an embarrassed sound and Grantaire gives him a one-armed hug, snickering into his friend’s hair. “You know what you are, Jehan Prouvaire?” he says teasingly. “A bloody romantic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehan’s hunting methods were difficult to figure out and it made me kind of nervous to write about them, but vampires are vampires and they have to hunt, I could hardly ignore that…
> 
> Total Eclipse of the Heart was meant to be a vampire love story and it came out in 1983, so I felt fully justified having R sing it to Jehan. I don’t know if the vampire thing was common knowledge at the time but you know what, I don’t care. :P  
> For an idea of what a relaxed, acoustic version of this epic power ballad could sound like, listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lb98Jjw75ps&ab_channel=NickTe). 
> 
> If you want to see the clothes I based Jehan’s outfit in the park on, hop over to my tumblr where I post [silly bonus content](https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com/tagged/fangs+and+flower+power) sometimes!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: short mention of vampires drinking from animals, but mostly just a lot of cuddles.

"You weren't kidding about your place being crap," Grantaire says as soon as he steps through the door.

Jehan rolls his eyes. He knows his attic isn't much to look at. " _You_ wanted to come here," he reminds Grantaire accusingly.

"Yeah, I know, but-" Grantaire looks around. "This place is pretty much empty. Do you spend all your money on your wardrobe or what?"

"Pretty much," Jehan grins. His expression softens. "And...I really wasn't counting on staying here this long when I moved in here."

A single, quick movement of Grantaire's eyes indicates that he has definitely understood that comment, but instead of remarking on it he says: "It's kind of skeevy they even dare to charge rent for this."

The corner of Jehan's mouth twitches. "I don't pay rent," he says. This room had been empty for years, he had hardly needed to use any presence on the landlord to let him move in for free. Just for a while of course. At least that has been the initial idea.

Grantaire has moved on from the main room and is now shamelessly opening every other door he can find. Most of them belong to storage spaces.

"Please tell me you're not looking for a coffin," Jehan smiles.

"Maybe," Grantaire says, narrowing his eyes for comical effect. "Honestly I'd be happy to find _anything_. I was expecting...well, a lot of books at least."

"Long live libraries," Jehan winks, pushing two chairs towards each other to create a cosy nook to sit.

"Yeah, but still," Grantaire says and Jehan can tell there is something very near worry on his face.

"Alexandre gave me enough money to buy what I need, but why buy stuff I need to leave behind again?" he says earnestly.

"Fair enough," Grantaire shrugs. He looks at the brightly coloured cloths thickly covering the small windows and – for good measure – most of the shabby walls too. "It's colourful at least," he grins.

"I try," Jehan sighs, sitting down. "I'd like to keep plants, but you know, no sunlight."

Grantaire hums and plops down in the other chair, immediately putting his feet up on the suitcase in front of it. "You don't have a tv," he points out with a grin.

"Was that meant to be a subtle request for me to read to you?" Jehan says, smirking slightly.

"Oh, was I being subtle?" Grantaire quips.

Jehan laughs and gets up again to fetch a book. It's not even strange to have Grantaire in his room. It makes him wish he had done a better job decorating, yes, but it isn't weird, just cosy.

A couple hours later the contents of Grantaire's bag – mostly snacks, pencils and paper – are strewn throughout Jehan's room, as well as several of Jehan's short story books. Jehan feels warm and cheerful and he really doesn't want Grantaire to leave, but it's very late...

"Not that I want you to," he says with a sigh. "But shouldn't you get home?"

"Why?" Grantaire asks, slumped lazily in his chair. " _I_ don't have to get home before sunrise."

"Don’t you have work in the morning," Jehan prompts gently.

Grantaire scoffs. “Whatever. Besides, I can go there from here, can’t I? I can sleep anywhere, there’s space enough on your floor.”

Jehan raises his head indignantly. As if he’d let Grantaire sleep on the floor. “If you _were_ staying,” he says, before he can pause to think about it. “There’s more than enough room in my bed.” There’s a moment of panic between hearing himself say that and seeing the grin that flashes onto Grantaire’s face.

“Was that an invitation?” he says, quirking an eyebrow suggestively.

Jehan pulls a face at him. “ _Maybe_ ,” he says, in a suitably jokey tone. “But not for tonight. You’ve eaten all your food already. You won’t have anything in the morning.”

“Euch,” Grantaire says dismissively, waving his hand.

“I make sure I don’t go hungry,” Jehan admonishes. He has always done taht, but he takes extra care since he started hanging out with Grantaire. “You should do the same.” It may have been nearly two decades since he had to worry about it himself, but it hasn’t escaped him how bad Grantaire’s diet is.

“I can grab something on the way to work,” Grantaire tries.

“ _No_ ,” Jehan insists. Despite his mind doing a very good job of imagining how nice it would be to fall asleep cuddled up to Grantaire, it has just occurred to him that he doesn’t exactly have enough bedding for two people. Certainly not enough to keep Grantaire warm with Jehan constantly cooling down the bed.

“What are you going to do,” Grantaire says challengingly. “Kick me out?”

“R…” Jehan says, frowning at his smirk.

Grantaire laughs merrily. "Am I tempting you to use your Jedi mind powers on me?" he asks teasingly. He says it with his most obnoxious grin, but Jehan still refuses to laugh at it.

"No," he says. "Never."

Grantaire looks at him, grin softening, and stretches out his hand. "I was joking."

"I know," Jehan says, lacing his fingers through Grantaire's. It's the one thing _he_ won't joke about though.

Grantaire pulls Jehan's hand towards him and presses it against his mouth before letting go. It's not quite a kiss and not quite not a kiss. Jehan doesn't bother hiding his glowing smile. He can still feel Grantaire's warmth on his skin.

“Your mind powers,” Grantaire starts again.

“Presence,” Jehan corrects smilingly.

“Yes, that,” he hums. “How does that even work?”

Jehan hums. That's another thing he doesn't exactly know. It's never been explained to him. It just sort of _is_ and he's rather good at it too. Suddenly he gets an idea. This is actually something he’d like to show. He lets himself slide off his chair, sitting down on the floor. He spreads his hands against the floor.

"What are you doing?" Grantaire asks, frowning at him.

"Believe it or not," Jehan says jokingly. "This place has mice."

Grantaire snorts. "Rats, more likely."

Jehan tuts and lets his eyes close a little. His fingers tap an absent-minded rhythm on the floorboards as he lets his mind wander. Jehan has always been good with animals, even as a human, and now…

There is a soft scurrying behind a nearby radiator. Grantaire looks up in surprise and Jehan smiles. The mouse scurries towards him across the floor. Jehan holds out his hand and smiles wide enough to expose his fangs when the tiny paws climb over his fingers.

“Kick ass…” Grantaire breathes.

Jehan grins at him, carefully stroking the mouse with one finger. “Alexandre was good with animals too,” he says. His expression cools a little. “Only he used them to drink.”

“That’s a thing?” Grantaire asks, surprised.

Jehan shifts uncomfortably. He knows how this is going to sound but- “It is,” he says. “I don’t do it though.”

Grantaire’s look is not judgemental or accusing, but it _is_ questioning.

“It’s a lot harder to drink from animals without killing them,” Jehan defends himself. “I’m a vegetarian, I mean I was, before-” He makes a conflicted noise. “Vampire blood can't heal animals, I don't know why, but it just kills them." He allows the mouse to walk to his other hand. "Besides...humans can consent, animals can't."

"I get that," Grantaire says.

Jehan meets his eyes and there really is no judgement there. Grantaire is too good to him. He smiles and holds the mouse up to Grantaire.

Grantaire pulls a face before giving it a careful stroke. The mouse sits quietly, blinking up at him with black eyes. "What are you doing to it?" he asks.

"Not much," Jehan says quietly. "I'm just...suggesting that it doesn't have to be scared."

His friend hums thoughtfully and retracts his hand.

Jehan lowers the mouse back to the floor and let's his Presence fade. The mouse climbs off his hand, but doesn’t flee. It wanders around the chair legs instead. That’s the thing about Presence, if the suggestions made are helpful rather than harmful the effects last way longer than the original impulse. Slowly, so as not to startle the mouse, Jehan gets up and sits back down in his chair.

“Jehan the mouse whisperer,” Grantaire says dreamily, gaze directed towards the ceiling.

Jehan feels oddly proud. A few of the other vampires he’s met had been impressed with his skill in charming animals, but no one has ever been as pleasantly fascinated as Grantaire.

Grantaire heaves a great, suffering sigh and gets to his feet. “Alright, I’ll go home,” he says. “But let it be known I do so against my will.”

“Noted,” Jehan smiles. He watches fondly how Grantaire stuffs his things back in his bag and shrugs on his jacket.

“There,” he says. “Almost ready to go.” He spreads his arms. “Come here.”

Jehan gets up and lets himself slump forward into Grantaire’s embrace. Grantaire’s warm arms wrap around him in a firm hug. For a moment Grantaire’s buries his face in Jehan’s hair, leaning against the top of Jehan’s head and then he lets go.

“Be safe,” Jehan says as Grantaire opens the door.

Grantaire hums, but hesitates in the doorway. He turns back. “You’re not, you know, planning on leaving anytime soon, are you?” he asks, forcing the words out hurriedly.

Jehan feels a tug in his chest. He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not at all.”

The grin is back on Grantaire’s face. “Good,” he says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, R,” Jehan says with a smile.

♦♦♦

Grantaire is aware that what Jehan is doing isn’t normal. Jehan doesn’t talk about other vampires a lot, but from what he has said Grantaire concludes they are either solitary or live with other vampires. Apparently some vampires do have more to do with humans than others, but that seemed to be one of the things Jehan got really uncomfortable talking about and Grantaire prefers to stay away from subjects like that. All things considered he thinks it’s very possible that what they have now isn’t going to last forever. Forever. For Jehan ‘forever’ is actually a thing. An attainable thing. Grantaire tries not to think about that. He prefers to focus on things he can deal with. Which is why he chooses to focus on the fact that whenever Jehan has told him something about being a vampire, he draws back just a little. If only for a while. When that drawing back is over he does the opposite, being so affectionate all touches turn to actual hugs for a while. Grantaire would greatly prefer it if Jehan skipped the first bit and kept it at the second. Maybe Jehan is trying to give him space, to process things or something, but he doesn’t need space for that. Well, maybe, but not that kind of space. Actually, he knows exactly what kind of space they both need.

♦♦♦

Jehan is speechless.

“What do you think, pretty glam right?” Grantaire says proudly.

In the absence of words Jehan just nods. Grantaire has significantly rearranged his bedroom.

“ _That_ is to keep out the light,” he says gesturing at the several layers of cloth covering the widow. “I tested it yesterday, nothing comes through. And that-” He points at the bed, which has been pushed against the wall on one side and is flanked by the couch from the living room on the other. “Is as many blankets and pillows as my bed can hold, plus four hot water bottles, which means I’m going to melt and probably die, but also means that you’ll be warm for a change. So if you’re up for it, we can have a proper sleepover.”

Jehan looks from the nest-like mess on the bed to Grantaire’s grin and feels very much in danger of crying. “R,” he manages, voice rather unsteady. “That is the single sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me in my entire…existence.”

Grantaire’s grin wavers. “Then the people you’ve met so far should really step up their game,” he begins. “Cause-”

With a frantic shake of his head Jehan throws his arms around Grantaire’s neck and hugs him as tight as he dares. Grantaire hugs back, letting the self-deprecating wit trail off in favour of a warm laugh. He laughs again when Jehan refuses to let go of him. Jehan hangs around Grantaire’s shoulders, eyes squeezed shut. He is still not convinced he’ll manage not to cry. He wonders if Grantaire will ever stop surprising him with how incredibly sweet he is. He hopes not. Jehan hopes he will never get so complacent as to stop being surprised. Suddenly Grantaire moves and Jehan feels he’s being lifted off his feet.

“Hey!” he protests, squirming a little, but taking care to use hardly any real strength.

“If you’re going to hang on me, we might as well do it in comfort,” Grantaire says, walking Jehan over to the bed.

“I still have my boots on,” Jehan protests.

“Fine,” Grantaire sighs and puts him back on his feet.

They both kick off their shoes and Jehan follows Grantaire into what he really thinks should be called a nest. Grantaire pulls the covers on top of the both of them and Jehan burrows deep into their warmth. This is the cosiest he’s _ever_ been. Grantaire’s arms wraps around Jehan from behind and draw him in close. Okay, this is even better. Jehan reaches out and grabs one of the hot water bottles to warm his hands.

“Am I warming you up yet?” Grantaire mutters, his grin audible in his voice.

“I’ve never felt so warm,” Jehan smiles, putting his hand on Grantaire’s arm now it’s not so cold anymore. Jehan smiles into the pillow supporting his head. He’s never felt so loved either. “How’d you come up with this,” he mumbles.

Grantaire hums vaguely. “I used to do this as a kid,” he says and Jehan can feel Grantaire’s breath on his neck when he speaks. “This is better though.”

Jehan laughs. He’s all wrapped up in Grantaire. Grantaire’s arms, Grantaire’s covers, Grantaire’s smell. It’s all so human. No. That’s not it. It’s all so Grantaire.

“Jeez,” Grantaire mutters, nudging a hot water bottle closer to Jehan’s side with his feet. “I’m glad I’ve got you or I’d be cooked alive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jehan grins. “This is lovely.”

Grantaire chuckles contently and Jehan turns around in his arms to look at him.

“This is the best,” he says happily.

“We’ll make it a tradition,” Grantaire says. “Warm blanket nests are now vampire culture, pass it on.”

Jehan giggles. “Can dancing to Bowie be a tradition too?”

“Hell yes,” Grantaire grins.

Jehan smiles up at him. “Coolie.”

Grantaire’s eyes dance with light. He opens his mouth to say something, but changes his mind and closes it again with a smile.

“What?” Jehan prompts.

“Nothing,” he hums warmly and suddenly he leans forward and kisses Jehan’s forehead.

Jehan glows. All the sounds of the outside seem muffled to him and he recites, almost in a whisper: “How still, how happy. Now I feel… Where silence dwells is sweeter far. Than laughing mirth’s most joyous swell. However pure its raptures are…”

“That reminds me,” Grantaire grins when Jehan goes silent again. He rolls over to reach into a corner of the bed and takes up the copy of the poetic Edda. “I figured you’d like something to do instead of just lazing about,” he winks.

“It’s pretty weird to be in bed at night,” Jehan says with a laugh.

“It’s evening, not night,” Grantaire points out. He gives Jehan the book and folds his arms behind his head, lying comfortably on his back.

Jehan leafs through the volume in search of the Lokasenna.

“You only sleep during the day because of the sunlight though, right?” Grantaire remarks.

“Kind of,” Jehan agrees. He also doesn’t need nearly as much sleep as he did as a human. He could sleep here though, he could sleep here forever.

“Well,” Grantaire says, pulling a serious face. “I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to be recited to all night, but tomorrow _is_ Saturday, which means there’s a pretty good argument for sleeping at night and waking up in the morning.”

“Oh?” Jehan says. “What’s that?”

Grantaire puts on his most reverent expression. “Morning cartoons,” he says gravely and then, with a grin: “Why’d you think I dragged the tv in here?”

♦

On days that he doesn’t have to work Grantaire isn’t nearly as bad at waking up. This morning is no different. He opens his eyes and wonders why he’s lying to one side of his bed. As soon as he remembers he smiles and looks over. Jehan is lying in his bed. With his braid all dishevelled and his slender arms hugging one of the pillows. They have both fallen asleep with the light on. Grantaire glances at the alarm clock that has been banished to the other end of the room because of the reorganization of furniture. Nine thirty.

“Morning,” he mutters in Jehan’s direction.

“Mmm,” Jehan groans.

Grantaire chuckles and sits up to get out of bed.

Even half asleep Jehan moves fast. He catches Grantaire by the arm, muttering disapprovingly. His touch is cool again, but not quite as cold as usual.

“Cartoons…” Grantaire coaxes.

“Mm,” Jehan hums reluctantly and he lets go.

Quickly Grantaire gets out of bed, turns on the tv, grabs the remote and slides back under the covers with Jehan. As soon as he lies down Jehan rolls over to lie against him, eyes still stubbornly closed.

“Want me to turn down the sound?” he smiles.

‘No,” Jehan mumbles, hiding his face against Grantaire’s shoulder.

Grantaire smiles and suddenly he realizes this is the first time he’s woken up next to someone without either a massive hangover or a distinct lack of clothes. Lazily he turns half his attention on the tv, keeping the rest to enjoy the moment.

After a while Jehan begins to wake up. By that time Grantaire is getting hungry and gets up to make breakfast.

When he comes back, Jehan has piled the pillows against the wall to lean against and is watching the tv with delightful unconcern displayed over his whole being. Grantaire sits down next to him with his bowl of cereal and Jehan immediately leans against him. As soon as he does he pulls a face.

“You smell like milk,” he says with a slight grimace.

“Sorry, have to eat,” he grins. “Food doesn’t smell good anymore?” he asks, curiously.

Jehan shakes his head. “It’s not bad or anything, but your own smell is nicer.”

Grantaire gives Jehan an amused glance and Jehan splutters slightly.

“Not like that,” he says. “Not that kind of nice.”

“You sure?” Grantaire teases.

“Well, maybe a little,” Jehan says, repressing a smile.

There’s a burst of music from the tv and Grantaire hums in approval. “You’ll like this,” he assures Jehan and he turns the volume up a bit.

They watch tv until Jehan starts to curl up again and eventually falls back asleep. He’s not used to being awake during the day after all. It’s Saturday though and Grantaire has no intention of getting out of bed either. He ends up sketching Jehan while he sleeps, something that Jehan makes Grantaire suffer for when he wakes up by gushing about it until Grantaire threatens to paint him.

‘I’d love that though!” Jehan exclaims.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Grantaire says. “You’d have to sit still.” He would like to paint Jehan though. Only he’s not sure if he’d do a good enough job. He likes to work from photographs for paintings and that’s not an option here.

Grantaire coaxed Jehan into letting him take pictures of him once. The first roll of film he ended up having to destroy, because they both hadn’t remembered in time that Jehan should keep his fangs hidden in the picture. On the off chance that something _would_ be visible on the picture after developing and the technician might see it. But none of the photographs Grantaire ended up getting back from the store were any good. The man at the counter had apologized, thinking there might have been something wrong with the film he sold Grantaire. Because – just as Jehan had warned – every picture was either too dark to make out, or badly overexposed.

After a day of absolutely nothing but lying about, Jehan turns his face to the covered windows. “Sun’s going down.”

Grantaire still wants to know how Jehan can tell, but Jehan doesn’t seem to know that himself.

“This-” he says. “-is definitely going to be a tradition.”

“Yes please,” Jehan grins. He looks up at him. “Do you have anything to do on Sunday?”

“Painting,” Grantaire says.

“Painting what?” Jehan asks innocently.

“No,” Grantaire grins.

Jehan laughs and then looks a bit conflicted.

“What?” Grantaire asks, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn.

“I should go out for a drink,” he says reluctantly.

“So why don’t you?” Grantaire asks.

“I’m so comfy,” Jehan whines, letting himself slide back onto his back on the mattress.

Grantaire chuckles. “Just think of the dark romance you’re depriving some poor soul of by staying here.”

Jehan’s eyes twinkle with his smile.

“Go,” Grantaire commands dramatically, pointing towards the door. “You need to sweep someone off their feet and become a blissful, hazy memory. Forever to be treasured and mystified by.”

“That’s pretty,” Jehan sighs. “I’d like that.” He slides out of bed.

Grantaire gets up too and watches how Jehan puts the few articles of clothing he took off back on. “Hey,” he says when Jehan is nearly ready to go. “About next Saturday.”

“Yeah?” Jehan says eagerly.

“I would propose a repeat of today,” Grantaire says. “But there’s a rally actually. Lots of people I know are going. It’s for gay rights.”

Jehan looks up at him interestedly. “When does it start?”

“Before sundown,” Grantaire says regretfully. He would have loved to have Jehan there. “But there will probably be a bit of an after party or hangout in some bar or whatever.”

Jehan beams.

“We could meet up on the corner by that junk shop you like,” Grantaire grins. “That’s close to where we’re gathering.”

“I’ll be there,” he says and he drops a kiss on his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was my sister (who apart from beta-ing pretty much all my work is also a constant source of delightful ideas) who came up with the brilliant idea of hot water bottle cuddle nests to watch morning cartoons in.
> 
> The poem Jehan quoted is by Emily Brontë.
> 
> Thanks for reading once again and happy new year! May it be a good one <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter:  
> This is the obligatory angst chapter, so I’m afraid I have to warn for: physical pain (including wounds), emotional distress, blood (both in drinking and in bleeding) and general fear, panic and sadness.
> 
> A bit of a cold splash in the face considering how fluffy all the rest of this is, but I’ll make it up to you before the chapter ends I promise <3

 

_1988, Saturday_

 

It’s a nice evening. Rather soft and with something cheerful dispersed in the air. Jehan has stopped to find it pleasant though. He can’t find Grantaire. All the time he’s been waiting on the corner they agreed on people have been passing by. Some of them have certainly been to the rally Grantaire wanted to go to, but he’s not among them. Jehan knows Grantaire isn’t the most punctual person, but he’s never kept him waiting this long. He sighs, absentmindedly kicking the heel of his shoe against the wall he’s leaning on. Five more minutes. He’ll wait five more minutes before getting worried. Five.

♦

It wasn’t even during the protest that things went to shit. It was after. The rally was very peaceful, more so than his friends had expected at least. But Grantaire had gone for a drink right after and he had already been drunk on high spirits and cheerful crowds. He runs his mouth when he’s like that. To the wrong people.

Grantaire’s vision keeps blinking on and off. Maybe he shouldn’t have run, not away from the crowds anyway. But he didn’t exactly have time to carefully consider it with those assholes chasing him. The brick wall he’s slumped against feels soft, like it’s about to give way. There is a searing pain in the left side of Grantaire’s body and his right side feels unbalanced...

Drowsily he makes a vague effort to turn over, to the side that doesn’t hurt as much. It’s a lot of effort. And maybe not even necessary. The pain in his left side is beginning to fade already. His eyes close.

♦

“R! R!”

Grantaire opens his eyes, but sees nothing. _Did_ he open his eyes? He tries again.

“R, look at me!” It’s Jehan. His voice sounds high and frantic, not at all like he usually sounds.

A cool hand touches the side of Grantaire’s face and something like pain, but much more muffled, passes through him in a nauseating wave.

“Y- You’re bleeding,” Jehan stammers.

Is he? Grantaire tries to raise his hand to his face, but the movement his arm makes is uncontrolled and weak. His fingers brush past Jehan’s sweater and without meaning to he grabs a handful of the fabric. Jehan’s here. It’s fine. When Jehan is with him it’s always fine.

Jehan doesn’t sound fine though. He is saying all sorts of things Grantaire can’t quite understand. His voice is growing more and more distant. It sounds very soft. Maybe Jehan is tired? Grantaire is tired.

“R,” Jehan says shakily, his voice very close and painfully loud all of a sudden. “You need to stay awake.”

Grantaire’s eyes have shut again and opening them is too much effort. He makes a comforting motion with the hand that is still holding on to Jehan’s sweater. It doesn’t have the desired effect, Jehan’s voice only gets more panicked. For the first time Grantaire wishes Jehan would be quiet. Struggling to push past the fog in his mind, he lifts up his eyes. Jehan’s face is very close.

“Yes, look at me,” Jehan breathes. “R- _Grantaire_!”

Jehan’s face fades for a moment and suddenly there is a hand on the back of Grantaire’s neck, steadying his head. It must be Jehan’s hand, because it is soft and cool. Everything cool and comforting in the world is Jehan. Grantaire always suspected that, but now he knows.

A second set of fingers is touching his face and suddenly a strange, heavy smell fills Grantaire’s airways.

“R,” Jehan says hoarsely. “Here. Drink.”

Grantaire hopes his eyes are closed, because he cannot see. The smell is so heavy it’s weighing him down. The tips of Jehan’s fingers are brushing against his cheek and Grantaire can feel the warmth of his own breath on his face.

“Just a little,” Jehan’s trembling voice urges him. “It’ll help.”

Grantaire doesn’t respond, instead he presses a kiss against Jehan’s wrist. Jehan’s skin is cold. Grantaire swallows. What slips down his throat is cold too.

The heavy smell is everywhere now. He’s breathing it, drinking it, it’s pouring down his throat. The smell has a taste. It feels cold, but it tastes warm. Cold like Jehan’s touches and warm like his smile. It’s a good taste. Better… Better than anything he’s ever tasted.

Distantly, at the edge of consciousness, Grantaire can feel a hand on his body. Cold fingers brush past something sore and he recoils, pulling away from Jehan’s wrist. The pain is making him shiver. Or is that the cold?

“Sorry, sorry,” Jehan breathes.

Grantaire tries to look up at him, but his eyes can’t focus. He swallows. In an impulse he reaches out for Jehan’s arm. He wants more.

“Yes,” Jehan says hastily. “Just a little more…it’ll work.”

Grantaire presses his lips back against Jehan’s wrist and tastes the cold again. It tastes even better now and he starts drinking greedily without meaning to. Whatever it is trickling down his throat, it’s stronger than the pain that is trying to claw at him from the inside. It is warming him up, gently pouring into the cracks of his consciousness and helping to clear his mind. Grantaire wants to smile, but his lips are busy. Nothing better than a drink… He’d never touch anything else for the rest of his life, if he could just drink this forever. This loss of hurt and pain made liquid. Grantaire doesn’t know what it is, but he never wants to stop drinking it.

Except he does stop drinking. Because even though the taste filling his mouth is still genuine warmth and cool comfort, he’s suddenly conscious of a smell. Blood. He smells blood. Jehan’s blood, Grantaire realizes with sudden startling clarity. Jehan is feeding him his blood to heal him. How much has he drunk? Isn’t this hurting Jehan? His body feels weird, light, not sore and numb like just now, but…cold. He pulls away, moving his cold lips in an attempt to speak.

“No,” Jehan says urgently, directing Grantaire head back to his wrist with his other hand. “You can’t stop now. Keep going.”

There is an edge to his voice that worries a distant, still weakened part of Grantaire’s mind, but he complies. Jehan’s blood is sweet and rich on his tongue. It tastes like the way Jehan laughs with his eyes sparkling, like the garlands of daisies he weaves to drape across his hair, like the sound of his voice when he greets Grantaire just after sundown.

Grantaire leans back and realizes he’s leaning back against Jehan. He is supporting Grantaire’s back, one hand pressed to his face, the other still pushing slightly on the back of his head to prevent him from pulling away. For the first time Grantaire realizes – actually realizes – how strong Jehan is.

“You have to keep drinking,” Jehan’s voice mutters by his ear. “Please…”

Jehan doesn’t need to ask him. He doesn’t need to beg. Never. Grantaire drinks, incapable of being aware of anything but Jehan. Jehan’s body pressing against him, Jehan’s taste filling his mouth, Jehan’s smell clouding his mind. Drowsily Grantaire opens his eyes and the colours of the world nearly blind him. The world is bright. More vibrant than he has ever seen it. For a moment his heart aches. All that colour. There isn’t enough skill in his hands to capture them…

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The colours fade in front of his eyes and he barely feels their loss. He doesn’t need to capture anything. All he needs to do is drink. His teeth touch Jehan’s skin. Jehan told him to keep drinking. He drinks deeper. There’s no time to breathe. He doesn’t need to breathe. He needs to drink.

The only other thing Grantaire is aware of besides the blood are Jehan’s fingers stroking through his hair. Jehan... It’s all Jehan.

There is a tightness in Grantaire’s chest that’s making if very hard to-

_Jehan._

Swallowing is becoming increasingly difficult. There is something-

_Jehan._

He’s cold. Very cold. Too-

_Jehan._

The last thought in Grantaire’s mind before he loses consciousness is that if only Jehan would stop crying, he would be perfectly happy.

♦

There’s a certain kind of waking up Grantaire _knows_ only happens when he’s about to wake up with a massive hangover. It’s like surfacing through a soundless, lightless blur of drowsiness and that is exactly what he’s feeling now. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. If he opens his eyes light will come to split his skull and his body will remember that it should be punishing him.

Except it usually remembers before he’s even opened his eyes. Usually as soon as he realizes he should be afraid to open his eyes actually.

He opens his eyes.

It’s dark, mostly anyway, and he’s lying on the floor. Well that’s not t- Grantaire blinks. This isn’t his apartment. He tries to sit up, but as soon as he stirs there is a frantic burst of movement beside him.

“Grantaire!”

“Oh,” Grantaire breathes, relieved. He’s at Jehan’s place. “Sorry for passing out on your floor,” he groans, forcing himself into a sitting position. It costs him remarkably little effort actually. He feels way better than he deserves to considering he must have done last night. Not that he remembers of course. “Man,” he grimaces. “What did I _do_?” He looks up into Jehan’s face. Only then does he see the tears in his friend’s eyes.

Grantaire’s face falls. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Jehan shakes his head. He opens his mouth, says nothing, tries again and gives up. Instead he takes Grantaire’s face in his hands and presses a kiss on his forehead. Grantaire can feel him trembling.

“Jehan,” he says, voice flooding with worry. “Jehan what-”

Jehan kisses him again and wraps his arms around him in a crushing hug.

In a corner of Grantaire’s mind, the oblivious fog starts to fray. He wasn’t with Jehan last night. He was at the rally… He got hurt. Badly hurt.

♦

Jehan can't speak. The mixture of relief and sorrow in his chest is making him ill. He lets go of Grantaire and frantically tries not to cry.

Grantaire is staring at him. Slowly, realization seems to dawn on his face and Jehan squirms with misery when Grantaire raises a hand to his own chest and spreads his palm across his heart. He holds his breath to listen and the room goes deathly quiet. For minutes. Grantaire has forgotten to start breathing again.

"Oh," he exhales finally with a surprised breath.

A weak, sorrowful sound escapes Jehan's lips. He didn't mean to do this. He really didn’t.

"I drank too much, didn’t I?" Grantaire says softly.

Jehan nods, defeated. He should have stopped Grantaire, but he was too afraid of what might happen if he did. Grantaire could have _died_.

…or he might not have. If Jehan had just given him a little to drink, just enough to give his body strength, enough to heal him up a little while he brought him to the hospital- There’s a sinking feeling in Jehan’s stomach and he can’t stop it. His heart doesn’t beat, but it aches. Slowly he lifts his eyes to Grantaire’s face, looking at him with the full force of his regret.

“R…I’m so sorry…” he breathes.

“I’m not.”

Jehan blinks at him, lashes heavy with tears.

Grantaire is sitting up straight and he looks awake and alert. “I’m not,” he repeats. “I’m really not.” His eyes soften a little when he looks into Jehan’s. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m not sorry you turned me.”

“But-” Jehan begins.

Grantaire pulls a face. “I don’t talk to my family, Jehan,” he says. “I work a job I don’t care about so I have just enough money to lock myself in my studio the rest of my waking hours. I know I wasn’t about to get drafted into some war like you, but it’s not like I’ll be mourning my human life.”

Jehan wasn’t prepared for a reaction like that, but because it shares a striking resemblance to Grantaire’s usual self-deprecating statements he chides, almost in reflex: “Don’t talk about your life like that.”

“It’s true, Jehan,” Grantaire protests. He gives him a cynical grin and as soon as he does so his face changes. “Oh, wow-” he marvels and he raises his hand to his face to feel his teeth. “That is so fucking weird…” He scrapes his thumb past one of his new fangs. “Man,” he chuckles. “I bet I look like a dork. And I can’t even check what I look like.” He laughs.

The sound of Grantaire’s laughter shakes some of the dread off Jehan’s shoulders, but he doesn’t quite give in to the smile that is tugging at the corner of his mouth upon hearing it. “R,” he says gently. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

Grantaire looks at him. “Jehan, life’s a bitch and then you die, I refuse to take _any_ of it seriously.” He snorts and pulls an amused face. “Except you’ve just made me immortal, so I’m _definitely_ not going to take anything seriously now.” He grins again and in Jehan’s opinion the fangs look very good on him.

He gives Grantaire a conflicted smile. “I’m still sorry,” he says. “You didn’t ask for this. I should have taken you to a hospital. You probably would have made it…”

Grantaire says nothing, he just looks at him.

“But…” Jehan continues shakily. “I couldn’t stand the thought of... Your body wasn’t healing like I expected it to, I thought a little more blood would help and then-” He swallows. “I- I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know it would happen so fast.” He gives Grantaire a pleading look. “I wanted to help you. I didn’t want to _take_ anything from you…”

Grantaire looks back at him with an open expression on his face Jehan has rarely seen before. “Jehan,” he says seriously. “You’re my favourite person in the whole damn world.”

There is too big a confusion of feelings in Jehan’s chest to be able to deal with a confession like that. He makes a strange, strangled noise and lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder. “You’re mine too,” he mutters. “...I love you.”

Grantaire hugs him back tight and Jehan can already feel the difference in his body. His arms are stronger and there’s no heat radiating off him like before. Jehan feels the ache in his chest again, but Grantaire mutters happily:

“You’re not so cold anymore.”

Jehan smiles. He doesn’t feel like he deserves to, but he can’t help it. He lets go of Grantaire, swaying back and sitting on his heels. A rather strangled, but not completely unhappy sound escapes his throat and he wipes his eyes.

Grantaire moves back a little so he can lean against the wall and reaches out to hold Jehan’s hand.

Jehan squeezes his hand and comes to sit beside him, resting his back against the wall and his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. He sighs deeply, trying to exhale the guilt sticking to the inside of his ribs.

“I never realized…” Grantaire mutters. He makes a bemused noise. “Why do you breathe?”

“Habit,” Jehan replies. He raises his head with a faint smile. “You’re breathing now, aren’t you?”

Grantaire looks uncertain, stops breathing and makes a face. “Ugh, weird.”

Jehan’s feels his smile grow a little wider in spite of himself. “Breathing is…comforting.” It sounds rather weird now he says it out loud, but it’s true. “And we have to breathe to be able to talk.”

He gets no answer. Grantaire is still holding his breath and frowning like he expects to start gasping any moment now. Jehan watches him with fond fascination. It’s weird, but he doesn’t remember what it felt like just after he was turned. Not at all.

A car drives by in the distance outside and Grantaire raises his head, eyes wide. “Shit, you hear _everything_ ,” he says. “ _Raw_ …”

It’s hard for Jehan to cling to feelings he really doesn’t want to be feeling when Grantaire looks so excited and unconcerned. He _does_ remember how that felt. The strange, elated freedom. The realization that he could leave everything from his human self behind. That _had_ been wonderful…

♦

Everything seems different. Smells, sounds, colours, Grantaire’s brain is struggling to keep up with his senses. It’s overwhelming. And beautiful.

He feels different too. His body feels steady and solid and yet the movements of his limbs are quick and light. He’s afraid that he might stumble if he gets up though, so he stays where he is, sitting on the floor with Jehan right beside him. Grantaire realizes he let go of Jehan’s hand and grabs it again, squeezing his fingers slightly. Jehan squeezes back. He doesn’t say anything though and suddenly Grantaire is wary of the silence.

“Hey,” he says, offering Jehan a crooked grin. “Thanks for saving my dumb ass.”

The corners of Jehan’s mouth twitch, half-amused, half-pained. “You very accurately avoided the phrase saving my life there.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows in confusion and then snorts when he gets Jehan’s meaning. “Jehan I love you,” he says. “But you need to stop overestimating my intelligence. I do _not_ put that much thought in what comes out of my mouth.”

“Stop doing that,” Jehan laughs and Grantaire grins, because Jehan always scolds him when he talks down to himself, but it doesn’t matter. Jehan is laughing. “I’m gonna make you stop doing that,” Jehan says, smile still on his face. “One day.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Grantaire smirks.

“I’m patient,” Jehan assures him. “And I’ve literally got an eternity.”

Grantaire’s smile lessens. Eternity. Well, if it’s with Jehan… Actually, he never thought about that before, not from Jehan’s perspective. Grantaire is used to living in the moment as hard as he can and that’s what he’s been doing ever since he met Jehan. But for Jehan it must have been very different. “I know you didn’t want to- didn’t want to do this,” he begins. “But…the alternative…” He trails off. Jehan is looking at him with a melancholy smile on his face.

“Yes…” he mutters.

There’s a short silence and then Jehan, who is carefully avoiding to make eye contact, continues softly:

“It had crossed my mind. Of course it did. But…” He shakes his head.

Grantaire thoughtfully feels Jehan’s individual fingers, focussing on the still new sensation of their hands being the same temperature.

With a sudden, abrupt movement Jehan looks up and Grantaire does too, to meet his eyes.

“I might have thought about doing it, but I never would have done it,” Jehan says urgently, dark eyes large and pleading. “Not unless you had asked me to… I never wanted you to be anything other than what you are, not my fledgling, not my ward… Just my Grantaire.”

He’s still not used to it. That sincerity that strikes like bloody lightning. Grantaire searches for something to say. “What’s a ward?”

Jehan hums and puts his head on Grantaire’s shoulder again. “A human that drinks vampire blood regularly. Like…they’re the vampire’s Ward, the vampire is their Patron.”

“Why would they do that?” Grantaire asks. He doesn’t really care that much, but he wants Jehan to keep talking. He wants to keep sitting here, holding Jehan’s hand, Jehan’s head against his shoulder, just talking.

“The healing effects vampire blood has on humans stay if they regularly drink a small dose. Wards age slower, get a little stronger, faster, that sort of stuff.” He lifts his head to look at Grantaire, who is frowning slightly.

“And in return?” Grantaire asks. That sounds like one hell of a deal, there must be a catch.

Jehan shifts his position a little. “Vampires drink from their wards,” he says.

That seems only fair to Grantaire, especially since healing up isn’t a problem.

“That’s a thing a lot of settled vampires do nowadays actually,” Jehan says, sounding a little more serious and raising his head to look at Grantaire. “They take wards so they don’t have to hunt anymore.”

“You never felt like doing that?” Grantaire asks cautiously.

“I’m not settled,” Jehan says, sounding a little hesitant. “And…there’s side effects. Drinking from a vampire binds you to them in a way. The Presence, it gets way stronger. And…it’s addictive, or so I’ve been told.”

The memory of the taste of Jehan’s blood flashes vivid in Grantaire’s mind and he swallows. “No shit,” he mutters.

Jehan looks at the floor. “It’s also pretty intimate…” He makes a vague noise that sounds rather disapproving to Grantaire.

“Is that what would have happened if- If I hadn’t been so badly hurt?” Grantaire asks.

There’s an uncertain look on Jehan’s face. “Technically…” he says. “But drinking once isn’t enough to make a ward.”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything, but he is glad he was turned. Really. Because considering what this feels like and remembering how it felt to drink Jehan’s blood. He would have begged Jehan to let him do it again.

The uncertainty on Jehan’s face has turned to uneasiness. “I’ve met a couple of Alexandre’s acquaintances that had wards,” he mutters. “Some of them were okay, but most of them were…weird. Unequal.” He gives Grantaire an unhappy look. “Vampire society is…difficult. There’s a reason Alexandre and me are transient. I- Living in one place, dealing with others, it’s hard.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grantaire mutters. He doesn’t care if they stay here forever or go wherever Jehan wants to go.

“It _does_ matter,” Jehan disagrees. “There’s so much…stuff. Things you should know.” And he begins to talk of things Grantaire really doesn’t have the presence of mind to absorb right now. His senses have not settled down yet and instead of trying to understand, he lets Jehan’s words wash over him, like he’s reciting poetry instead of explaining his new life.

There’s something about silver being dangerous, something about elders and younglings. Jehan keeps talking, sounding more and more incoherent, as if he’s trying to tell Grantaire every single thing he has ever learned in his twenty years of undeath. It’s not until Grantaire hears an apology that he manages to pay proper attention again.

“Jehan, Jehan,” he mumbles. “Mercy. I don’t know what you’re apologizing for now, but please stop. I don’t care how strong my blood is, whatever that means. I’m not dead. That’s good enough I think.”

Jehan leans his head back against the wall with a sigh. “Sorry, I was rambling.” He smiles faintly. “Did you get any of that?”

“Hardly,” Grantaire says honestly, smiling back.

Jehan squeezes his hand and closes his eyes.

It suddenly occurs to Grantaire that he looks rather tired. He has never seen Jehan looking tired before.

“You drank enough,” Jehan mutters. “You were hurt pretty badly, but you won’t be weak.” He opens his eyes and they flit to Grantaire’s face anxiously. “You feel good, right?”

“Never better,” Grantaire says, studying the lines on Jehan’s face. It’s the truth too, he can’t remember the last time his body felt this strong.

Jehan smiles at him and the strange fatigue seems to fade. “I’m happy,” he says. “I still feel guilty, maybe I always will-” His eyes shine. “-but I’m so happy, R.”

Grantaire lets go of Jehan’s hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face. He won’t let Jehan feel guilty. Not for what happened to him. Not for what he did. For nothing. But Jehan is smiling right now so he doesn’t argue.

“I feel…selfish,” Jehan laughed softly. “Like I stole you from the world.”

Like he is something worth stealing… Selfish. Grantaire shakes his head. “If only everyone was as selfish as Jehan Prouvaire,” he says.

“And you won’t let me compliment you,” Jehan says with a reproachful smile. He presses a kiss against Grantaire’s cheek and his lips aren’t cold this time.

Grantaire nudges his head against Jehan’s when he pulls away and they sit like that for a moment.

Then, reluctantly, Jehan moves as if to get up. “I have to go get something to drink,” he mutters.

Grantaire looks up, a painful pang in his chest. “No,” he blurts out. “Don’t go.”

Jehan’s fingers entwine with his. “I don’t want to R,” he says. “But-” He grimaces slightly. “-you drank a lot… And sunrise isn’t far off. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Suddenly Grantaire understands the tiredness he thought he saw in Jehan earlier. It wasn’t fatigue, it was hunger. Still, Jehan can’t go, not now. He grabs his hand tighter. “Can’t you take some of it back?” he asks. He _really_ doesn’t want Jehan to leave. For some reason that seems about the worst thing that could possibly happen to him right now. He swallows. “Vampires can drink from other vampires, right?”

Jehan hesitates. “Yes,” he says. “But you’ve only just-”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire says urgently. “I feel fine.” He does feel fine, everything is fine as long as Jehan stays with him right now.

Jehan gives him a conflicted look. “It’s normal for fleglings to feel a little…dependent on their sire,” he says uncomfortably. “But that will fade, R, I won’t try to keep that influence intact.”

“That’s possible?” Grantaire mutters.

“It’s unethical, but yeah,” Jehan nods. He looks at him earnestly. “But how you feel now, that won’t stay. And that’s the reason why I’d rather not drink from you right now. Drinking is intimate and you-”

“Hey,” Grantaire interrupts him. “Fair, I’m a little clingy right now, but I don’t feel…different towards you.”

The tense expression on Jehan’s face softens a little.

Grantaire rubs his thumb across Jehan’s fingers, wondering if he’ll ever get used to the fact that they don’t feel cold to him anymore. “I feel the same,” he says earnestly and, cracking a smile, he adds: “If I’m honest it’s not the first time I really don’t want you to leave either.”

Jehan laughs and pulls his hand free from Grantaire’s grasp, but only to wrap his arms around him and hug him. Grantaire hugs back, trying to pull him into his lap. Jehan complies, but as he pulls away a little Grantaire really sees something like hunger and weakness in his eyes.

“How much did I drink?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Jehan says quietly. “I let you drink until you passed out.”

Grantaire grimaces. “So take some of it back,” he urges. "Besides, I didn't lose a lot of my human blood to begin with, did I?" Man that sounds weird when he says it like that.

Jehan worries his lip with his front teeth.

“You say you never go hunting while hungry,” Grantaire says seriously. He’s never seen Jehan looking like this, it's upsetting. “I’m not letting you break that rule because of me.”

Jehan hesitates. “You’re right,” he sighs. “But-” He gives Grantaire a worried look. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure,” Grantaire says. “Go ahead. I mean it.”

For a single moment Jehan still wavers, but then that hungry edge in his eyes sparks again and he relents. “Okay, yes, thank you.”

Grantaire grins, just a little nervous. “Sure. Tell me what to do.”

“Give me your arm,” Jehan says softly. “Please.”

Grantaire shrugs off his flannel shirt. It’s ripped, he only notices that now. Jehan comes to sit kneeling in front of him. Grantaire holds out his arm, grinning his nerves away.

Jehan supports Grantaire’s arm with both his hands and gives him an equally nervous look. “It…it might still hurt quite a bit,” he says cautiously. “When I was turned it took a couple months for my pain levels to adjust. Tell me to stop if it hurts too bad.”

Grantaire hums indistinctly, but Jehan fixes him with a serious look.

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” Grantaire says.

“Okay,” Jehan breathes and finally he bows his head. Very gently he puts his lips to Grantaire’s skin, on the inside of his elbow, almost a kiss. Then he opens his mouth and Grantaire feels his teeth. Jehan bites down carefully but quickly. The pain lags behind a beat, but when it comes Grantaire winces. Jehan relaxes his jaw and pulls away a little.

“It’s fine,” Grantaire says hastily, but Jehan’s mouth is already on him again. This time Grantaire feels Jehan’s tongue instead of his teeth and he realizes Jehan doesn’t need to keep biting down to drink. The sting is gone now and it’s the strangest thing, but Grantaire can feel Jehan’s drinking rather than the fact that he’s bleeding. It hurts, but somehow it’s not unpleasant. There’s something almost endearing about the way Jehan is moving his head.

With an abruptness that takes Grantaire rather by surprise Jehan stops drinking. He pulls away a little, makes a soft sound and leans back in. Grantaire feels his tongue lap against his skin, almost as if to clean the wounds.

“Thank you,” Jehan sighs. He lets go of Grantaire and slides out of his kneeling position until he’s sitting slanted on the floor.

Grantaire looks into his face. Jehan’s mouth is smudged with red and his pupils are so wide his eyes seem nothing but black. The look in them is unfocussed, almost blissful. It’s beautiful enough to make Grantaire want to quote poetry at him. Before he can say a thing though, he feels a strange pull on the skin of his arm. Grantaire looks. There are two punctures in his flesh, and red teeth marks around them, but they are healing. Grantaire can _see_ them heal. They’ve stopped bleeding already and the frayed edges are fusing together before his very eyes.

“Wicked,” he mutters.

Jehan lets out a breathy laugh.

Grantaire looks at him and he can’t help but notice that Jehan is looking back with a rather enamoured expression.

“I- hm,” he hums with a flustered look.

“What?” Grantaire grins. Jehan looks drunk. He’s never seen him like this before.

“You still taste…human?” Jehan says shyly. “At least a little, I think? I don’t know.”

“Well, I was human a couple hours ago,” Grantaire grins. He knows that should bother him more than it does, but it really doesn’t.

Jehan nods wordlessly, swallows and makes an appreciative sound that makes Grantaire feel a little embarrassed, but also rather smug. Seeing Jehan lick his blood of his lips should also bother him more, but instead Grantaire just grins again.

“Um, that was…nice,” Jehan smiles embarrassedly.

“Good,” Grantaire says amusedly. “Did you have enough?”

“Yes,” Jehan nods, sounding a little calmer already. “Enough to not be hungry anymore at the very least.”

“Alright then,” Grantaire sighs. Jehan is right, sighing is comforting.

“We could…not sit on the floor,” Jehan suggests after a while.

“Interesting suggestion,” Grantaire muses. “Quite a revolutionary concept.”

Jehan smilingly rolls his eyes and comes to sit against him again. “Suit yourself.”

Grantaire puts an arm around him, the arm that had a bleeding wound in it not a moment ago in fact. They sit in silence for a moment, Jehan cuddled very close against him, and Grantaire keeps a careful eye on his thoughts. He doesn’t want them to wander too far. He might run into something unpleasant.

“You alright?” Jehan asks softly.

“Yeah…” Grantaire hums. “I was just thinking…” He gives Jehan a pained look. “I have a damn _encyclopaedic_ knowledge of the best places to get food in this city and it is completely useless now.”

Jehan blinks at him and then buries his face in his hands, snorting. “Are you going to keep doing that?” he asks, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

“I mean it, Jehan,” Grantaire insists, keeping a straight face. “My head is filled with so much useless knowledge now. Most of it about food.”

Jehan drags his hands down his face and looks at him with the fondest exasperation Grantaire has ever seen. What does he care for sombre thoughts when he’s found someone like Jehan. Nothing at all. Not tonight at least.

“Speaking of food,” Jehan sighs. “We should both get something to eat tomorrow night. Turning is exhausting and fledglings shouldn’t go hungry.”

“Okay,” Grantaire hums. That’s a bit of a weird idea actually. Get something to eat… That doesn’t mean what it used to mean anymore. And the thought of what it _does_ mean now makes him slightly queasy. Still, there’s no need to be glum about this either. He’s not alone, Jehan will teach him what he needs to know.

Jehan meanwhile is looking at Grantaire with his head slightly slanted. Something is twinkling in the depth of his dark eyes. “If I may make a suggestion for your first meal?”

Grantaire feels a thrill of excitement. Maybe it’s the smile on Jehan’s lips, or the way his fangs catch the light, whatever it is, he allows it to replace his hesitance. “Yeah?” he says.

“I was just thinking…” Jehan hums. “Would you recognize those lowlifes that beat you up?”

A slow grin spreads across Grantaire’s face. “Oh yeah,” he says and for the first time he realizes how _good_ it feels to grin with fangs gleaming in his mouth. “I _definitely_ would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m _so_ sorry, but this had to be done. I hope cuddles and kisses (and the promise of revenge) are enough to pardon me.  <3
> 
> And if it is I hope I'll see you next week for the final chapter!
> 
> PS. Revenge does _not_ mean murder, we are well behaved creatures of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: mention of drinking from animals, a necessary talk on R’s emotional state (and the worrying Jehan that goes with it) and a European writer treating the entirety of Iowa as ‘a place where you could have a farm’ (I do apologise, most sincerely).
> 
> [In case you hadn’t seen it yet and would like to see Jehan and R go out hunting together for the first time. Here is [an outtake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351512) about just that.]

_  
Ottawa, 1989_

 

“You are  _way_  too good with cats.” Jehan watches delightedly as the stray curls around Grantaire’s ankles. Grantaire’s Presence is incredibly strong with animals. “Even I struggle with cats!” Jehan says excitedly.

“So you’ve said,” Grantaire hums. He scratches the tabby behind her ear and flashes Jehan a grin. “Do I get good grades this time then?”

Jehan snorts. “You don’t need to practise this anymore,” he scoffs, swinging his feet over the edge of the building’s roof. “You just wanted to play.”

“Busted,” Grantaire grins, letting the cat go. She gives a short purr and sits down beside his feet to wash herself.

Jehan smiles and looks up at the sky. It’s a clear night and glad as he is for the stars he can see, he suddenly wishes he was in the countryside. It’s been so long since he saw a proper starry sky.

“Shall we practise something else then?” Grantaire says, breaking the silence.

Jehan looks round. Grantaire is sitting on an air vent, hunched forward to look at the cat instead of looking at Jehan. He knows what Grantaire wants to practise and he shouldn’t be dragging his heels about it. It was his idea after all. It just makes him incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.” He gets to his feet and walks away from the ledge, towards Grantaire and his new friend.

Grantaire looks at least a little surprised. “Yeah?” he says cautiously. “You up for it?”

Jehan smiles faintly. “You always make it sound like it’s worse for me,” he says. “It’s not.”

“You’re the one that insists on feeling bad about it,” Grantaire quips. He sits up straight. “Alright, hit me.”

Reluctant as Jehan is to do this sort of stuff, it’s really good to see Grantaire so determined. Apart from his music and his drawing, he is rarely so incessant about anything. Jehan sits down opposite Grantaire, crossing his legs and looking up at him. He looks into his friend’s eyes and let’s his Presence bleed into his voice as he orders: “Stand up.”

Grantaire stares back at him. He looks uncomfortable, but he doesn’t move. He’s getting rather good at resisting.

Jehan can feel the tug of Grantaire’s mind. “R,” he says, voice calm and light. “Stand up.”

“No,” Grantaire mutters. His muscles are straining, but he’s winning.

“But you want to stand up,” Jehan says. He really hates this part. There are several ways to use Presence and Jehan is rather good at all of them, but he detests lying like this.

“No, I don’t,” Grantaire says slowly. The words sound doubtful, but he’s still not moving.

Jehan narrows his eyes. “Stand. Up.” There is a weight to his voice that hags chill in the air.

There is a dull spark in Grantaire’s eyes and one of his feet moves. “No,” he says, hunching his shoulders determinedly.

The glow of pride in Jehan’s chest is almost enough to make him let go, but he tries again. This time he smiles, letting go of all the hard edges that were in his mind just now. “Please?” he asks.

Grantaire stands up.

“Fuck,” he curses, the fog in his eyes lifting as soon as he blinks.

Jehan has already let go and he claps his hands. “R that was awesome!” He jumps to his feet and hugs him, startling the cat.

“Still didn’t fucking make it,” Grantaire grunts.

Jehan tuts and presses a kiss against his cheek. “Says the fledgling hardly a year old.” The fact that Grantaire is able to resist a strongblood like Jehan at all is remarkable. Of course this is in a prepared situation and Jehan isn’t giving it  _all_  he’s got, but it’s impressive all the same. Impressive and promising.

“I guess,” Grantaire says with a lopsided grin. He gives Jehan a one-armed hug. “Not like I can say no to you when you smile anyway.”

Jehan grins.

 

♦♦♦

 

_Oshawa, 1992_

“R?”

Grantaire opens his eyes and looks up from where he’s sitting with his arms wrapped around his drawn up legs. “Hm?” he hums.

Jehan comes to sit in front of him, resting his hands on Grantaire’s knees. “I wanted to talk to you about your drinking.”

“Wow, okay, that’s giving me flashbacks,” Grantaire says with a grimace. It’s meant as a joke, but Jehan doesn’t laugh.

“The way you’re feeding,” Jehan says soberly. “I think you should stop.”

Grantaire frowns at him. “What do you mean stop,” he says curtly.

Just after he had been turned Grantaire had expected that not being able to eat or drink – especially alcohol – was going to be hard. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been. He missed it as an activity, as something to do with his hands, but for some reason the tastes, smells and sensations had faded so quickly there was no opportunity to long for them. No, not eating or drinking wasn’t hard. But being fond of drinking hadn’t stopped when he had stopped being human. Being moderate,  _that_  was hard. Jehan always said that unless you got hurt, there was no reason to drink more often than once a month and Grantaire knows he’s right. He  _wants_  to drink more often though.

“I don’t mean stop drinking,” Jehan says gently. “I mean stop hunting the way you do.”

“You do the same,” Grantaire retorts. Of Jehan’s two preferred methods, Grantaire has chosen the one that doesn’t rely on him charming his way into strangers’ homes. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t have Jehan’s beauty or elegance, he’d have to let his clever speeches do all the work. That’s what he used to do, but now, as a vampire, the line between verbal persuasion and Presence seems so thin. Too thin. And Grantaire will always remember the first time he drank. Not from Jehan, but the first time he drank to still the hunger. It had been satisfying to see the fear on the face of the men that had beaten him up. It had felt  _right_  to hunt them down. He had laughed at the irony of someone so vile tasting so good.

“There are better ways-” Jehan begins, but Grantaire interrupts him.

“Why does it matter?” he demands, sitting back and letting his knees lower, shaking off Jehan’s hands. The way Jehan is looking at him makes him squirm inwardly, but he refuses to feel guilty. He  _doesn’t_  feel guilty. Not for those people, not for turning predators into prey for once. He doesn’t kill, he doesn’t maim, he doesn’t overdrink.

“It matters,” Jehan says earnestly. “Because it’s not good for you.” Before Grantaire can argue, Jehan grabs his hands and says pleadingly: “You’re so  _low_ , Grantaire. And it gets worse after you’ve drunk, I’ve seen it happen. Feeding is supposed to make us feel better. It should be a  _positive_  thing.” His dark eyes are large and concerned. “I am  _not_  blaming you. For anything. But you are feeding in violence and maybe… Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Grantaire looks down at Jehan’s hands clasping his. They’re still paler than his, always have been, always will be.

“We have to feed,” Jehan says quietly. “But however we do it, it has consequences. Every time you hunt, you seek out the absolute worst among the people around us. The exceptions. I feel like you’re starting to forget that they  _are_  exceptions. I’m just worried, R. I don’t want you to-” He falls silent for a moment. “I want you to be happy.”

It is impossible to argue with Jehan’s affection. Grantaire still won’t meet his eyes, but he can’t help thinking that Jehan might be right. He doesn’t enjoy hunting. Not really. Not anymore. As soon as the high wears off, the idea of it repulses him. But the  _taste_  doesn't... “Then what am I supposed to do?” he says. His voice sounds rough.

Jehan squeezes his hands and Grantaire finally lifts up his eyes to look at him. “You could feed on animals,” Jehan says seriously.

Grantaire frowns. “You  _hate_  that,” he points out. Jehan can’t stand the thought of feeding on animals.

“What’s right for me isn’t necessarily what’s right for you, R,” Jehan says gently.

Drinking from animals has never been as distasteful to Grantaire as it is to Jehan. He’s done it before, when they were in more rural areas. It had never occurred to him to drink nothing but animal blood though.

“Animal blood isn’t as potent as a human’s,” Jehan says, cautiously gauging Grantaire’s reaction as he speaks. “But you can drink from me if you ever need to get your strength up.”

He sounds so careful and worried that Grantaire makes an effort to grin at him. “That sounds like bribery to me,” he says.

A smile flashes on Jehan’s face. “You know you only ever have to ask,” he says affectionately.

Grantaire nods silently and considers it. Maybe… Maybe this would be better. At least for now. He could just try it out. “Ok,” he says, meeting Jehan’s eyes again. “Alright.”

Jehan looks so relieved his entire face seems to light up. “Thank you,” he says, lunging forward and wrapping Grantaire up in a hug.

Grantaire wants to argue, because it really shouldn’t be Jehan being thankful, but instead he just hugs back and mutters: “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Jehan pulls away and nods, eyes glistening rather damply. “Let’s both not to do that anymore,” he says.

“Hey,” Grantaire says, raising his eyebrows. “What happened to ‘what is right for me isn’t right for you’, hm?”

Jehan puffs up his chest a little, searching for a retort. “Well…” he says. “What’s  _bad_  for you is bad for me too.”

Once again, Grantaire doesn’t argue, he just smiles.

 

♦♦♦

 

_Iowa, 1996_

 

“Nice to see where your letters end up,” Grantaire hums when they’re back on the road again. “Never really knew what to picture.”

Jehan nods. He’s curled up in the passenger’s seat, rereading Alexandre’s latest letter. Mabeuf had been as hospitable as always and had told Jehan that Alexandre had stopped by a year ago, very pleased to see so many letters waiting for him.

“Are you and Alexandre the only ones that use that place as a post office?” Grantaire grins. He’s steering the car with one hand, leaning back comfortably.

“No,” Jehan smiles. “Mabeuf is always ready to help anyone. He’s…settled.” The old vampire is probably the most settled of his kind. His farm has been a constant across literal centuries and he has never moved. Mabeuf drinks from his animals and shows his gratitude by taking excellent care of them. Alexandre always told Jehan that in this world you could depend on only two things: the call of your heart and hospitality at Mabeuf’s farm. It was a beautiful place. Grantaire had liked it too. Jehan was sorry to leave it again.

They drive in silence for a while and Jehan rereads his letters, just to indulge a bit. Finally he folds them all up and puts them away for now. “Thank you for driving,” he hums, leaning his head back and smiling at Grantaire.

Grantaire nods. “Hey,” he says with a slight smile. “I asked the old guy for a list of those plants he keeps, in his garden…”

Jehan’s eyes light with surprise. “You did?”

“You liked them, didn’t you,” Grantaire says, glancing at Jehan.

“Of course I did!” Jehan says. He adores Mabeuf’s garden and hot house. Both filled with night blooming flowers and fragrant herbs.

“Well,” Grantaire smiles.

“We can’t keep a garden though,” Jehan says with a laugh. They’ve never even had a place that had a proper garden. Actually, they’ve never had a proper house. Not really.

“I know,” Grantaire says, eyes on the road. “But you know, someday maybe.”

Jehan smiles. Someday maybe.

 

♦♦♦

 

_San Francisco, 2004_

 

“Your friend is very talented.”

Jehan offers the woman their warmest, closed-lipped smile. “Isn’t he just!” they gush.

Grantaire is playing the violin. By now he’s almost better at it than he is at playing guitar. Darkness falls early this late in the year and the street is still rather crowded.

“And may I say you dance very well,” the woman compliments Jehan with a kind smile.

“Thank you,” Jehan says cheerfully. They had only stopped dancing, because it seemed time for them to be at least a little tired. People weren’t very attentive to such things, but you never knew.

“You know,” the woman says with a fond smile. “I’m almost certain I had a floral vest just like that when I was your age.” She laughs. “Funny how things come back in fashion.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in fashion,” Jehan confides. This is their favourite vest. They’ve had to mend it a dozen times. Their father had absolutely hated it.

She laughs again. “And why should we have to be,” she says. With another glance at Grantaire and a smile for Jehan she prepares to moves with the crowd again. “You bo-  _both_  have a wonderful night.”

Jehan has clearly heard her swallow the word ‘boys’ and that makes them so happy that the effort it takes to restrain their facial expression means they’re a little late in replying. The woman has already turned away when they do, but she still glances back to smile at Jehan’s cheerful: “You too!”

As she walks past Grantaire the woman drops another couple of coins in the violin case, despite having already given something. Grantaire turns towards her with a movement that is almost like a bow and she bows back.

Jehan manages to stand still for another minute, but then they jump towards Grantaire again and carry on with their dancing. Either Grantaire’s songs sound better to them while they’re moving or Grantaire plays better when Jehan dances, but the music is even sweeter now. Jehan looks at Grantaire’s face, into the bright flash of his greyish eyes and they move with the happiness they feel bubbling inside them. They like San Francisco, if Grantaire agrees they could stay here a while…

 

♦♦♦

 

_Los Angeles, 2009_

 

It’s only an hour before daybreak when Grantaire gets home. Home is an actual apartment instead of a motel room this time, but not a very nice one.

Jehan is reading, sprawled out on the couch, but they look up with a smile as soon as Grantaire steps through the door. “Hey!” they chime. “How did it go?”

“You forgot to lock the door again, Jehan,” Grantaire hums, locking it behind him.

“Oops,” Jehan smiles, pulling in their legs to make room for Grantaire. “So?”

“It was alright,” Grantaire shrugs. “The guy’s a bloody Narcissus, but he liked the finished product better than the sketch.”

“I’m sure you made him very happy,” Jehan says warmly.

“He made me very happy by finally paying,” Grantaire smirks.

He’s not going to lie, making money with his art  _is_  satisfying, but working for someone else instead of himself…not so much. Still, portraits are kind of fun and it’s a challenge, confronting someone that hasn’t seen their face for decades with what they look like now. It often doesn’t match the image they have in their head.

“What about you?” Grantaire asks, sitting back comfortably. He gives Jehan an inviting glance and they stretch their legs across his lap. “Did you go out?”

“No, didn’t feel like it,” Jehan answers.

“You had a good time last time, right?” Grantaire asks, slanting his head. Jehan has stayed inside more than usual lately.

“Sure I did,” they say.

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic,” Grantaire says carefully, playing with the frayed edges of Jehan’s jeans.

“Oh, no,” Jehan says. “She was lovely, really, I’m just-” They shrug. “I guess I’m a little bored with LA.”

Grantaire hums and holds out his hand. Jehan takes it and allows Grantaire to pull them into his lap. Grantaire wraps his arms around them and leans his head against their shoulder. “So we’ll leave,” he says. “We’ve been here long enough. Where do you want to go?”

Jehan’s eyes light up. “How about Europe!”

“Europe?” Grantaire echoes. That means flying. He hates flying.

The spark in Jehan’s eyes has already diffused over their entire face though. Clearly, they've been dreaming about this behind his back. “Yes! You remember my friend Courfeyrac?”

“Yes…” Grantaire says slowly. Courfeyrac is a friend of Alexandre’s whom Jehan met as a fledgling, but who recently managed to get into contact with them again. “So you want to go to France?”

“No, the Netherlands!” Jehan says excitedly.

“I thought he was a French nobleman?” Grantaire frowns. From what Jehan has told him about Courfeyrac he sounds, well, like a stereotype. A dramatic one at that.

“Yes, but he lives in Amsterdam with his partner,” Jehan reminds him. “He’s been asking me to visit for ages.”

“Amsterdam,” Grantaire snorts. “Are your hippie roots acting up again?”

Jehan gives him a shove. “Come on, I’ve always wanted to go to Europe.”

Grantaire isn’t going to say no to Jehan. He rarely does. He rarely cares about things as deeply as Jehan does and he certainly doesn’t care as much about them as he cares for Jehan. He leans back, looking up at Jehan with the same steady affection he has felt for almost two decades. “What’s Amsterdam like then?” he says with a smile. “Convince me.”

Jehan beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this turned out considerably longer than I had meant it to be, but I hope you liked it!
> 
> The ending is left a little open for a reason. I never know how to let go of a world and I do have more ideas, I just don’t know if I’ll have the time to write them. (I guess, if you’re interested in future instalments, follow the series ‘Sweet like Blood, Sugar’ ^-^)
> 
> In any case, thank you for reading and especially those of you that left kudo’s and comments. I know this isn’t a very ‘marketable’ and I really appreciate the lovely feedback I’ve gotten here and on tumblr <3
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading and now it’s over I'd love to hear what you thought of it overall!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want you can find me on my tumblr: [Mysunfreckle](https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com) where this story has it's own [tag](https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com/tagged/fangs+and+flower+power) :)


End file.
